Taboo
by Submissive Laney Loveless
Summary: Forced to decide between being homeless, or to enter a D/s relationship-Izzy finds herself in the role of a submissive to the older and elusive, Master Edward. Intrigued by the unfamiliarity and the seduction he offers, she toes the line between pain and pleasure. Will she discover a side of herself she never knew existed? Or will she drown in the past?
1. Chapter 1

**Characters belong to S. Meyer. I just like to make them do dirty, kinky things.**

At exactly 7:13 in the morning, I push open the glass door to _Harry's Hideout_, listening to the familiar dull chime of the bell overhead. Usually the bell didn't bother me, but today, it just seemed to taunt me. Along with everything else.

Life just wasn't going like it was supposed to. Instead of getting a full nights sleep, I was up all night worrying, pacing, agonizing over bills and an eviction notice that had been slapped on my apartment door.

One week. I had seven days to come up with a $1000.

"Mornin', Iz," I hear a deep, scratchy voice greet me from the back of the restuarant, interrupting my inner monologue. "Cup o' joes sitting on the counter for ya, darlin'. Two creams, three sugars!"

I feel a smile creep across my face at his usual greeting, and temporarily forget about my financial problems. "Good morning to you, Charlie."

Charlie was like a father figure, that no one asked for, but ended up acquiring. He was a gruff older man, with a beard that was too bushy for his chubby face, and sweet brown eyes that held a youthfullness that was odd for his age. His belly overlapped his leather belt, and was constantly peeking out from under his many greasy, cutoff, plaid shirts.

But behind all the rough exterior, was a kind heart and a good man. When I had come to Chicago, I had $10 to my name, no job opportunities, no family, and no one who gave a damn about me. When I had walked into _Harry's Hideout, _I had given up. I had no other options. Nobody wanted to hire someone like me they said. I didn't have roots. I wasn't from here. I wasn't qualified. I was over qualified. I wasn't good enough.

So I walked into _Harry's Hideout,_ ordered a water with a cup of soup with my last $5, and felt the tears start to cascade down my face. Charlie took one look at my rain soaked clothes, my tear streaked eyes, and told me to be back here tomorrow at 7:30 to train.

That was that.

Four years later, I'm still here.

I pull the pink, homemade scarf from around my neck, and start unbuttoning the oversized, yellow winter coat that had seen one too many Chicago winters. I walk towards the cheap white, golden flecked counter, my shoes squeaking on the worn linoleum of the floor, and pick up the plastic cup of steaming coffee that seems to be calling my name. Being as it's Saturday morning, and I didn't get much sleep the night before, I would say it's more screaming my name. With a careful sip, I let the sugary, yet bitter, liquid slide down my throat, and fall into my stomach, creating a warmth that spreads outward, and runs all the way down to my frozen, wet toes.

Perfectly mediocre coffee, for a perfectly mundane day in the office. This was familiar to me. Almost comforting.

I shift my gaze towards the barred windows of the restuarant. Leaning on the counter, I take in the grey clouds that hang low over the city; threatening to once again, drop feet of perfectly horrible, wet, cold snow on the innocent people below. People dot the grey streets, walking to work, home, the park, hailing down cabs, buying papers from the news stand, cigarettes, gum. It all seems like a typical Saturday morning in Chicago.

Familiar.

Yep, perfectly familiar.

With one final swig from the paper cup, I swallow the last drop of the coffee before taking my belongings back to the breakroom.

At 7:30, I place my time card underneath the clock, and listen to the clicking sound it makes when it stamps the card. Another day, another dollar earned. Lets hope there are $999 more dollars to add to that.

At 7:32, I start the coffee pot, and pour a cup for Charlie. He's been in back, prepping for the morning rush and muttering to himself about the overpriced "froofroo" fruit/vegetable tomato that everyone seems to love too damn much. It's the same every morning.

Familiar.

I find him shoved head first into an oven, when I round the corner with his coffee; his ass sticking straight in the air.

Leaning against the door frame to the kitchen, I cross my arms over my chest, juggling the coffe in one hand, and clear my throat to get his attention. He lifts his head up swiftly, hitting it with a _thud,_ and lets out a string of curses that make my ears turn red, but causes me to chuckle so loud, that I snort.

Charlie comes up from the floor, rubbing his head, and eyeing me with narrowed brown eyes. His beard is covered in black soot, and hits shirt had ridden up more than usual around his round belly.

"I could have busted my noggin' open wide, and you would still be laughin." He tries to sound stern and mean, but the wink he gives me tells me different.

I smile back in response, and grab a towel from the sink, trying to rub some of the soot from his miscolored beard.

I tap his head gently, and murmer kindly, "I don't think anything could break that head of yours."

He squints at me, considering me for a moment. "You'd be right, Iz."

He doesn't stop looking at my face, and I want nothing more than to squirm underneath his scrutiny, but I apply what I think is a neutral look, and scrub the last bit of greasy soot from his hairy chin.

Hopefully he didn't see the worry on my face. He didn't need to know.

"There you go. Handsome as always."

He puffs his chest up proudly, and slides a soot covered hand through his slightly greying hair, a blush started to spread across his face, and disappears underneath his beard.

Glancing at the oven he just came out of, I notice a wrench sitting on the floor, and a few odds and ends that look like they came from the ancient oven.

"I'm guessing you weren't trying to go all, Sylvia Plath on me. But what were you trying to do exactly, Charlie?"

His face took on a pensive look, his hands went straight to his hips, and he starts muttering underneath his breath again. This was classic ticked off Charlie.

"Big Bertha may have finally kicked the bucket this mornin', kiddo."

As much as I wanted to smile, I knew better. Big B and Charlie had a relationship that was filled with turmoil and loving moments just like any normal, human relationship. It was kind of weird really. But if I so much as hinted towards a smile, Charlie would take offense, and sulk all week. Sulking Charlie was never fun.

"Maybe you can call someone to come fix her," I suggest.

He rubs a hand over his face in frustration and thought, and shakes his head. "I already know the answer. It would probably be cheaper to just buy another one."

He sighs deeply and rubbed a hand on the back of his neck.

"Who knows kiddo," he reaches into his breast pocket, and pulls out a wrinkled piece of paper, "maybe this ticket will be the winner."

A familiar ringing cues me to a customer.

"Well before that happens, we still have people that just can't start their day without us." I hand over his cup of coffee, and pat his shoulder before heading back to the front to start taking orders for the day.

At 1:24, I have come to the conclusion that today wasn't the day for winning the lottery or making enough tips to pay even a portion of what I owe. The lunch rush has come and gone, and with it, my hopes of ever being able to pay my landlord.

Frustration starts to gnaw at me from the inside out. I would never have what I need by next Saturday. I would never have enough.

To make the time go by faster and an attempt to delay the inevitable, I grab a discarded paper that a customer has left, and start browsing the Wanted Ads for another part time job. My full time job at the diner wouldn't be enough anymore. Maybe the landlord would take payments?

Egg donor? Too painful.

Sales associate? Too much perkiness.

Call Center? Just...no.

A submissive? Wait...a what?

Maybe I had read that wrong. I close my eyes tightly, and peer back at the small printed ad with interest and shock. I hadn't misread anything.

_ Wanting a chance to explore a different side of yourself? An experienced Dom is looking for an intelligent, single, submissive woman, who isn't afraid to experience something new and erotic. With financial benefits. Serious inquiries only. Contact Master Edward at 555-1867._

_ "_Master Edward." I whispered to myself.

I didn't want to admit it, but I felt heat start in the oddest of places when I said it.

It definitely wasn't familiar.


	2. Chapter 2

**All characters belong to S. Meyers. I just like making them do dirty, kinky things.**

**Author's note at the bottom. Sorry for any mistakes you find while reading. All mistakes are my own. **

It was 5:34, and my shift at the diner had finally come to an end. Wrapping myself up tightly in my two sizes, too big coat, and pepto colored scarf, I give a halfhearted wave to Charlie as I head out the door, trying to hide my face from his inquiring gaze. After reading the ad, I hadn't been able to think straight for the rest of my shift. And Charlie, being Charlie, noticed the difference. I couldn't let him know what was going on inside my head. Heck, I didn't even know what was going on up there.

Being a girl from Forks, Washington, I didn't learn anything about sex until I was in the 6th grade Health class with Mr. Brody. Even then, it was all about not having intercourse with anyone until we were in love and married, and to use protection when the time came. No deviations. No excuses.

When I asked my father if Mr. Brody was right, he took out the bible and held an impromptu sermon about how God was always watching and knows our sinful thoughts and deepest, darkest secrets. That to think of men in such a manner would compromise my journey to the righteous path of God.

Needless to say, I finished the semester afraid of boys, and even more confused than when I started. Granted I understand a bit more about sex, but my teachers have been friends, Cosmo Magazine articles, and him.

Out of all those, not one of them helped me out now. If anything, they left me wondering what the difference was between what most deem "normal", and what others would consider seedy, taboo, and Lord help me-erotic.

What would he expect of me?

I let my mind wonder the whole way home, barely paying attention to the greying snow piles littering the cracked sidewalk, the other huddled pedestrians, or trash that starts to accumulate the further I walk from Harry's.

What exactly did a submissive do?

Did they really let people torture them? Did they really let people beat them? Would I have to crawl around like an animal? Would I be expected to say yes to everything? Would I be his slave?

So many questions plague me, and I had yet to come up with one answer that satisfied my curiosity.

I wish there was a way I could find more out about it.

Wait, would there be websites I could look at? Or at least a special kind of Pornipedia dictionary to help me get a better understanding.

Looks like I was making a pit stop at the library before heading home.

With a new purpose, I quicken my steps significantly; taking long strides with my short legs in hopes of reaching the library before closing. I round the corner to the bus depot and give myself a silent victory pat when I notice I'm just in time for the next bus. Within minutes I'm seated on the bus next to a sour looking woman holding a bouquet of dead flowers, and smelling faintly of Mr. Clean.

I pull the crinkled newspaper out from my coat pocket, and glance at this Master Edward's ad once more. I don't know what it was about the article that pulls at me, but I can't seem to stop until I have some answers. Real answers.

Was he a serial killer? Or a weirdo older guy, who couldn't get it up unless he put foreign objects into odd places? Or was he a psychologically scarred, sexually depraved man, who hated women, and had a hearty side helping of mommy issues? None of those sounded very appealing.

Or was he just a lonely man who didn't fit in?

I guess I would find out. That is, if I even wanted to.

By 6:47, I'm sitting in front of a computer, typing in "Define Submissive" in Google search engine with shaky hands. I look around the library discreetly while it's loading; assessing whether or not I would be caught red handed by a no nonsense librarian, that would grab me by my ear, and toss me outside in the cold, yelling to never step foot inside again.

My ears burn with the very thought. How embarrassing. Luckily, the librarians seem to be busying themselves with helping other patrons at the Help Desk.

I hurriedly look back at the computer screen and move the mouse to the "I'm feeling lucky" button. But I stop myself from pushing it.

Once I hit that button, I could never unsee. I could never undo what I found. Was I ready to know? Was I ready for the unfamiliarity?

What if…what if I liked what I saw? What would that make me?

I take in a deep breath, and push the button before I can drive myself crazy with the what if questions.

Holy crow…

Millions of hits appear in front of my eyes, and I can't help it; my mouth flaps open like a fish gasping for air on land.

Where would I even start?

Submission for beginners? It seems legitimate enough. I was as beginner as you could get!

I click on the link, and I'm instantly taken to a website that has a picture of a half undressed woman, with her back turned away from the man that was standing behind her. He has one hand grasping her hair, pulling her head slightly to the side, while the other hand is flat against her stomach, his fingers splayed. His mouth is hovering over her neck. Not touching with his lips. I can imagine his warm breath is hitting her neck column in soft pants. The woman's hands are at her sides, her hooded eyes looking at the person taking the picture; mouth partially open in a moan. She looks…he looks…

I feel too warm. My face feels like it is on fire.

I bring a hand to my cheek, and try desperately to cool down my too warm cheek.

My eyes move away from the picture with reluctance, skimming the article for anything of use.

_A submissive person makes a conscious choice to give up part or all of their control to another person. Submission is not a sign of weakness, but rather a way for consenting adults to explore a side of themselves that sexually, intellectually, and/or psychologically fulfills them more than any other relationship can. _

Sitting back in my seat further, I can't help but feel more confused. Is this what is meant to submit?

My eyes peer at the picture a second time. To be honest, it doesn't sound so bad.

* * *

I fold my legs up underneath me, and sit on my hand me down, green couch, staring at the paper in my hand. My eyes skimming across the ad once again.

Master Edward.

Was this even real?

Did people really put Wanted ads in the paper for sexual partners? Was this a normal thing?

The odd heat starts to build up in my stomach again, fanning out to my arms, and slides down to my toes like the coffee had earlier. Only with no sugary, bitter taste that usually follows. My mind flashes back to the picture from the website, and I feel the heat starting to make me uncomfortable. This sensation makes me so confused. What exactly was it I was feeling? Anxious? Excited? Hungry? Mortified? Nervous? It was something new and so unfamiliar, and not entirely unpleasant.

What kind of person would want to dominate another human? I reach for my hot tea, hoping the warm mug will help ward off the chill in my hands.

I absentmindedly rub my fingers against the words on the newspaper, and stare off into space; absorbed in my thoughts.

Maybe, just maybe, he was a nice guy who didn't want a conventional relationship with a woman. Maybe he was shy, or awkward, or didn't know the first thing about being with someone.

That made sense. There were a lot of people who had one night stands simply because they didn't know the first thing about being in a committed relationship with somebody.

Or maybe he wasn't the shy, nice guy. Maybe he got his kicks from humiliating women sexually.

I look out my only window in the apartment, and take in the darkening sky with a frown on my face.

Is that what he wanted? To humiliate me. To drive me to the point where I either plead for him to stop, or break me? Would I ever be okay with that?

I glance over at the stack of unpaid bills that seems to be increasing in size daily. As if the pink envelope wasn't enough, the red letters stamped across the papers inside spoke of the financial tornado I was in.

Did I even have a choice?

I get up from the couch, the thickness of the cushions no longer a comfort. I need to pace. I needed this to all make sense.

I take in a deep breath through my nose, and let it out slowly; counting the seconds it takes for me to exhale.

Why was I even considering this? There were perfectly good part time jobs all around town to apply to. But for some reason I keep coming back to this ad, agonizing over something I know nothing about.

My phone is in my hand and ringing before I even realize I dialed the phone. It's too late to back out now.

I hear the familiar click of the line, and then an older female voice, with a Scottish accent, follows suit. "Masen residence, can I help you?"

Masen? Who was Masen?

"Hello," the woman said louder, "is anyone there?"

Say something Izzy!

"Yes, hello. I'm so sorry, I um, didn't hear you answer," I breathe into the phone, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears. Clearing my throat lightly, I open my mouth to try again, but the only thing I can get out is a hissing sound.

Could I do this? Could I risk who I am just so I could stay in this horrible apartment for one more month? Possibly two. Was renting my body to someone else, to do with as they pleased, worth the possibly of losing what I stood for? What I grew up learning. Was I no better than the girls down the block who sold themselves for cheap liquor, a carton of cigarettes, or a handful of change?

Would this make me a call girl? Would I be nothing but a cheap whore to him?

I hear a chuckle on the other end, and a clucking sound. "Oh it's quite alright dear, I'm a bit breathless from running to the phone. Can I help you with something?

My hands grip the telephone receiver tighter, clenching it to me as if it were a lifeline; a life preserver that had been tossed to me in the choppy, angry ocean, and promised sanctuary from the waves.

I had to.

"I'm Isabella Swan, and I'm calling about the Ad that was placed in the newspaper. Has the position currently been filled?"

There's a click again. Did the woman hang up?

"No, Ms. Swan." A beautiful, rich baritone voice surprises me with an answer, and I can feel a shiver run down the base of my neck, to my now shaking knees. When had they started doing that? Where had the woman gone? "No it hasn't." He pauses for a beat, and I can hear a door close on the other line before he asks, "would you happen to be interested?"

Stopping by the hallway mirror, I notice my eyes are wider than usual, and have a shine to them. My face still holds a familiar paleness, but my cheeks are the color of cherries.

It's too hot in here.

I take in a deep breath, and close my eyes tightly in an attempt to block out my ratty apartment, and the familiar brown eyed, mousy girl looking back at me in the mirror.

Was I ready? I would have to give up my familiar. My constants. I would have to dive into the waters of uncertainty, and hope that when I did, I wouldn't drown in them.

The image of the woman and man flash in my mind. Her face replaced with my own. I was falling from my righteous path my daddy warned me about.

"Yes, I am."

**Thank you so much taking an interest in this story! I had no idea that anyone would even read the damned thing, let alone review it. I can't begin to say how much I appreciate you for the taking the time to review, like, read, or just skim through Taboo. Let's just say I couldn't stop smiling from all the alerts I kept getting throughout the day. When the theme song to The Big Bang Theory went off, I dove for my phone to see who else had taken an interest in my Bella and Edward. To put it bluntly, I crave your reviews like crack or cake. lol Although I'm more of a cake person. Yummy sugar. **

**Now to answer a few questions that were asked. How much older is Edward than Bella? Ms. Izzy Swan is 23, while our Edward is hitting the 37 mark. Yes, that is a bit of a gap, but for the purpose of this story, he had to be older. How often will I update? I updated twice this week, but from here on out it should be roughly once a week. **

**If you have any more questions, possible ideas on where this story is going, or concerns, feel free to leave a message or review. Keep in mind I can't answer anything if you are anonymous. **

**Next chapter, we get to meet the Master. ;)**

**Until we meet again,**

**Sub Laney**


	3. Chapter 3

**S. Meyer owns all characters. I just like making them do dirty, kinky things I come up with. I'm not perfect, so all mistakes are my own; be gentle. **

**Author's note below. See you at the bottom!**

* * *

At 2:17 the next evening, I find myself looking into my bedroom closet-that's about the size of a cupboard-for something to wear to my meeting with him. Is that what it was? A business meeting with a potential employer? Or was it more of a personal, intimate dinner between two consenting adults? Whatever it was, it scared the crap out of me. He scared me and I haven't even met him. Or maybe it was just what I thought he wanted to do. I wasn't completely sure anymore.

I don't know what he wants from me, or what I want from him, but there was no point in thinking on it when I had yet to meet him. I bite my lip hard and start shuffling through the few clothes that I own, attempting to push aside the thoughts that threaten to drive me insane.

There isn't much to choose from aside from my usual server uniforms, t shirts, and jeans. I have a feeling he would not approve.

What did a girl wear when going to a dinner meeting with a potential Dominant that wanted to do kinky and odd things to her? A short skirt with spanks underneath? A suit? My birthday suit with a bow wrapped around my neck?

I snort lightly at my own joke, and shake my head. Nice one.

Since I'm lacking in the business attire, spanks department, and have no desire to be hauled off to jail for indecent exposure, I settle for an emerald green dress from Charlie's friend's wedding from two years ago. The flowing skirt stops mid-thigh; the waist cinched to show off my small figure, with cap sleeves, and a modest, pleated, heart shaped neckline that shows just a hint of cleavage. Professional with a touch of feminine. Perfect for whatever this was.

I pull my old, form fitting, black leather jacket from the back of the closet, and throw it on the bed with the dress.

Now shoes.

Kneeling down on the floor, I rummage through the bottom of my closet, and grab the two pairs of dress shoes I own.

Did I go practical, and wear my ballet flats? They were plain black. Nothing fancy, but unbelievably comfortable, and simple. I could run in them for miles if I needed to, and never feel the pinching or aching in my feet. They would have been my first choice normally, but…

Did I wear my heels? They were black suede platforms, with heels that look like they could be used for a weapon, and easily add four inches to my height. Each shoe has a delicate, black ribbon that is used to wrap around my ankles for design and support. They aren't as practical and comfortable as the flats, but I was more than sure the reaction I would get with them would be worth the aching pain in the long run.

Wait. What was I thinking? Did I want to impress this man? I knew nothing about him except that he might want me. For what, I wasn't sure. But did I really want him to want me?

Maybe I was going about this all wrong. The dress, the shoes, the jacket; it wasn't me anymore. This wasn't my familiar. Normally I wouldn't have thought twice about throwing on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a pair of flats. But I have never done something like _this _either. It's too much to wrap my head around, and I begin to feel a headache starting in between my eyes.

In an effort to relieve the pressure in my head and forget about what I was about to do, I shed my robe and step into the shower.

I am showered, dressed, make up on, hair curled, and standing in front of the bathroom mirror by 5:37. The girl staring back at me looks nervous, scared, and flushed. And if I'm completely honest with myself, the flush isn't from the shower. I don't look like Izzy Swan at all anymore.

I turn away from my image on my unpractical heels, and head out of my apartment to our dinner meeting. Or personal meeting. Whichever it was.

At 7 on the dot, I walk into _Le Belle Provence _with false confidence. Nobody needs to know I don't have any.

A short, balding man in a suit stands behind a podium, waiting for me with a smile plastered across his face."Good evening, Madam. Welcome to _Le Belle Provence. _How may I assist you tonight?"

"Hello, I'm here to meet a…" I suddenly realize I'm not sure what to call him. Was he a friend? A colleague, or a business partner? My might, might not be Dominant? Why did this have to be so darn hard? I start to feel anxiety bubbling up in my stomach. I really need someone to talk to, but I am too afraid to say something to Charlie. He was the only one I trusted and knew who loved me no matter what, but I just couldn't bring myself to see the disgust on his face, or worse, the disappointment.

Somehow I don't think the distinguished waiter wants to hear about my life story, or see me turn into a blubbering mess in the lobby. He stands in front of me, perfectly dressed, his hands clasped behind his back waiting for my answer; the same smile on his face.

Just suck it up and let the man do his job, Izzy. "Edward. I'm here to meet Edward please."

His eyes take on a glint of surprise. "Ah, yes! Right this way if you please. He's waiting for you, Miss."

I follow the waiter through the lobby, my eyes taking in the luxurious fabrics and twinkling crystal of the chandeliers and champagne flutes. Patrons are dotted here and there, laughing, talking, touching; and I can't help but feel out of place. Their clothes scream money. I wouldn't be able to pay for the water here on the wages I make. I don't belong here. Clutching my billfold purse tightly to my chest, I walk a bit faster to catch up to the smiling waiter. He opens a door that leads into another room, and holds his hand out to let me know I should enter. I take a deep breath, stand up taller, and enter the room with my fake confidence.

The room is midnight blue, with black and silver accents. A chandelier that looks like a moon hangs over the one table that seems to be in the room. Twinkling stars surround the chandelier moon on the ceiling. How did they do that? It's beautiful. Plush, midnight velvet curtains hang on walls, casting shadows strategically on mirrored walls. The room is beautiful, but doesn't compare to the man that dominates the room.

He demands attention, and I can't help but give him mine.

He is tall. Even with my heels on, he is nearly a full foot taller than myself. But I suppose everyone is taller than my 5'4" frame.

Without thinking, I feel my feet move towards him. I feel like I'm being pulled; my body a humming magnet looking for my opposite to latch onto. It's a strong force I don't know anything about, but I can't stop it.

His hair is slightly longer on top than in the back, making me wonder if it always looks like this, or was he due for a trim. I really hope it's the former of the two. The lighting in the restaurant is low, but I can just make out flashes of red and copper highlights in his brown hair when he moves underneath an overhead light.

His face is beautiful, angular lines, clean shaven, and impossibly perfect. I remember seeing a face just like this in an art magazine. His jaw is sharp except for the slight dimple in his chin. His brows are lower over his eyes, giving him a little mystery and making me take a sharp intake of air.

His lips are full, with the bottom lip a little bigger than the top. And I want to know if they feel as soft as they look.

I'm not quite sure on the color of his eyes. Were they hazel or blue?

"Ms. Isabella Swan, I presume?" His words wrap around me in a cocoon of warmth and poetry, and I want to tell him to keep talking.

Okay Izzy, now it's your turn. Speak! "Yes." I squeak, sticking my right hand out to shake his own in greeting. "Just Izzy, please. Pleasure to meet you, sir."

Smooth. Really smooth. Just because he's older than you doesn't mean you need to throw it in his face.

His eyes stare at my raised hand as if it's a tentacle with spikes instead of a harmless hand. Was I not supposed to shake his hand? Did I upset him?

I'm just about to pull my hand back, when his hand engulfs my own, making me jump in surprise and causing my breath to catch. He slowly pulls it towards his lips, my wide eyes following our hands with curiosity.

Was he going to…?

My wide eyes glance up to his face swiftly to ask what his intentions are, but my question dies on my lips when I meet his burning gaze. Green. They were definitely green; with molten gold flecks circling around the iris. The corners of his eyes creased minimally. He is timeless and beautiful.

He turns my hand over, and kisses my wrist. His lips are soft, full, and I can feel my pulse start to flutter in my chest like a wild bird in a cage.

"The pleasure is all mine, Isabella." He takes in my dress with a look that makes my skin overheat, and the air in the room to become stifling. Or was it just me? I want to squirm under his scorching stare, but I lock my legs and stay still under his scrutiny.

"You look ravishing tonight." His eyes linger on my heels. He licks his lips like a hungry wolf. His eyes take on a darker tint. "I must say I'm rather fond of your heels, Miss Swan."

That familiar heat hits the bottom of my stomach, expanding into a fire that's ready to consume me where I stand.

Play it cool, Izzy. You haven't even sat down yet.

I force a smile onto my face, even though all I want to do is high tail it out of here, go home, and curl up in a ball on my bed. He was just so intimidating. So put together. And I was just so…me.

"Izzy please. And thank you, sir." My words coming out softer than I want them to.

He gestures to the lone table in the middle of the room, and holds his hand out to me. "Shall we?"

I nod my head and reach for his hand tentatively with mine. His hand is warm and strong. His fingers are long and beautiful. Was there anything on him that wasn't beautiful?

As soon as we sit down, a waiter materializes in front of us with a wine bottle and two menus.

"I hope you like red wine. I ordered before you arrived." He gives me a lopsided grin, and I have a sudden urge to lick the corner of his mouth.

What? Where did that come from?

"No, thank you." I manage timidly.

"So tell me, Isabella, what do you think being a submissive means?"

"Well, I-I'm not really sure. I've never done this sort of relationship before. But…control?" My cheeks start to burn, and I know I'm blushing. I look down at the table and take a sip of my wine before continuing on without looking at him. "I read that a submissive gives some or all of the control to the Dominant. Is that right?"

"If I were to put it in a crude, simple way. Yes. But it's not just about control, it's about the deep connection two people can experience with each other." I lift my eyes from the table to him in interest. "The trust they have in each other to not hurt one another." His eyes pin me in my chair, and I can almost feel him undressing me with them. "To find someone who trusts you enough to give you control over their happiness, their release; there is no better feeling, Miss. Swan."

I clear my throat loudly, "I wouldn't know, sir."

He furrows his brows and tilts his head to the side, silently assessing my words. "Miss. Swan, what do you think I want to do to you?"

He didn't beat around the bush, did he? I had been thinking about this exact thing; agonizing over every little detail that might happen, or wouldn't happen. I was driving myself bonkers, and now, now I would know.

My eyes dart around the room looking for an escape if I needed one after answering his question. "I suppose whatever you want to."

He narrows his eyes at me, and his mouth sets into a tight line. He looks so dark and beautiful. And not too happy with my answer. "I suppose you're right, Isabella. I could beat you, hit you, burn you, and there wouldn't be anything you could do about it."

He pushes himself away from the table with his angry eyes on me the whole time. He strides towards me, and grabs my upper arm, signaling for me to stand. He seems so much taller now.

Was he going to hurt me? I feel sweat run down my spine, my heart pounding in my chest, and my stomach bottom out.

No. Not again.

His face is near mine, his eyes taking in my wide eyes and scared expression. "Do you think me a monster, Miss. Swan?"

Did he want me to answer him? His silence answers my question.

Up until now I had thought he was intimidating, but not a monster. He looked dangerous before, but I hadn't sensed any danger.

"No, sir."

His green eyes roam my face for a second longer, before he nods his head at me. His grip loosens on my arm, and I feel my body relax in return.

He circles around me now like a predator going in for the kill; looking at me with no shame and shyness. I keep my head forward, but follow him with my eyes until he disappears behind me.

I feel the electricity before I feel him.

"Do you want to play with me, Miss. Swan?" His lips touch my earlobe with each word he utters. My skin breaks out into goose bumps. Two of his fingers touch my collar bone with a softness that I never would have thought a man could possess, let alone a man that looks like a predator ready to devour his prey.

This man was so confusing; a puzzle that I just couldn't put together. His moods changed direction more than a tree in a hurricane.

"Play?" I hear my voice crack; my lungs laboring to bring air in. He was too close. I can't think. His leather and musk scent assaults me, and I feel the heat blooming in my stomach and start to descend slowly. My legs feel like they could give out in a matter of seconds, and my arms are made out of lead. What is happening?

"Yes. Will you give me the honor of controlling your pleasure, Isabella?"

"I uh..."

"I want to be the reason you smile. You laugh. You cry. You moan. I want to drive you to the point that you can't take it anymore, and you beg me to stop. But I will not stop. I want to mark you, so any man that looks at you, will know you're mine. I want to taste you." I let out an audible gasp, and hear him chuckle darkly. "Say yes, and I will show you." His hands cup the nape of my neck, and slides down with a feather light touch, until he reaches the small of my back. Just when I think he is about to slide them down further, he wraps his fingers around my waist, and pulls me to him until my body is flush against his.

I can feel all of him. His broad chest is against my back, his hard thighs brushing against my back side every time he shifts his weight. His hands travel to my stomach, and lay flat against me, fingers splayed wide; as if he can't seem to get enough of me.

"We are good for each other." His hot breath hitting my neck, making delicious waves of need lap at my center, and I can hear myself panting faintly through the roaring of blood in my ears. "Look at us, Isabella." He growls my name with heat, sending a shock of electricity and warmth between my legs.

I give into his demand without any thought. I shift my eyes until I'm looking at our reflection in the mirrors that are hanging on the restaurant wall. Curled tendrils of my hair are blocking part of my vision, but I can see what he means.

His mouth is so close to touching me, but he holds himself back from what I know we both want. Some of his hair is falling onto his forehead, and tickling the side of my neck with their silky strands. I want to grab them and pull his mouth onto me. Green eyes are dark and unforgivingly staring at me with heat and a need that almost suffocates me. My own eyes are hooded with need, my mouth open slightly in a silent moan, framed by too red lips, my chest rises and falls with each laboring breath, and my arms are hanging at my sides; my hands clenched into loose fists.

It's then I realize…I look like the woman from the picture at the library.

Is this who I am now?

His fingers tense around my stomach driving all thoughts of come sense out the window, and I can't help the wetness he creates between my thighs.

His nose brushes against my neck, leaving a trail of fire that starts from underneath my earlobe, and ends where my shoulder and neck meets. He teases me until I'm afraid I might beg him for more. More of what…I don't know. I just need more.

"Let me be your Master, Isabella. Let me have all of you."

Is this what I want? Did I want him? I knew I couldn't give him all of myself. But could I still give him my body? He hands brush against my sides, and my skin hums a chorus of need, while my knees start to shake.

"Isabella." He dips his head to my ear again, licking the lobe with his tongue, and then nipping the softness behind my ear. I lose all hopes of ever having a rational thought around him ever again.

"Yes." He could have my body. There was no denying what his touch could do to me. I couldn't fight what he made me feel. My body was on fire from a simple touch. But all of me…that was something I wasn't sure I could give anyone.

* * *

**If you made it this far, you're wonderful. This chapter brought in the introduction to the Master, and kind of hinted on Izzy's past. Please, please, please leave some feedback. I'm not sure if you guys are liking where this is going, or if I should just delete, burn, rip, or water board the whole damned thing. I appreciate all the people that have taken time to leave a comment, and I have personally written back to almost all of you. You really know how to make a girl's day. :D**

**Until next time,**

**Sub Laney**


	4. Chapter 4

**S. Meyer owns all characters. I just like making them do dirty, kinky things I come up with. I'm not perfect, so all mistakes are my own; be gentle. **

**Author's note below. See you at the bottom!**

* * *

At 5:56, Chicago traffic isn't as bad as people think it is; it's worse. Especially when I'm in a standstill with a truck I'm not sure will make it a block, let alone the two miles I need to get to his apartment. Not to mention, the jarring motion of the decrepit truck did nothing for my already shot nerves, and I'm running behind schedule. I don't like being late. Since I was a young girl, my daddy insisted on always being on time, or early. Anybody who arrived late, was either up to no good the night before, or up to no good now. I could feel the anxiety bubbles starting to fizz in the pit of my stomach. I really do hate being late.

I should have taken a taxi to meet him instead of Charlie's truck, but I want the option of being able to leave when I want to, and not when a taxi decides to show up. If things got uncomfortable, I could bow out gracefully, and ride away on my valiant steed; a 1974 Chevy truck that was once black, but has more holes and rust than a downed battle ship in the water. That's if I made it there anytime soon.

Just when I'm about to jump out of the truck, and run the last mile to his apartment, the endless rows of cars magically start to move. It's slow at first, but I eventually pull into the valet area and visibly see the valet attendant cringe at the beast of a truck, when I place the keys in palm of his hand, in exchange for the piece of paper with my number. I'm so nervous about being late and seeing him, that I don't have time to feel embarrassment about it.

I'm in front of his giant apartment complex by 6:10, ringing the buzzer, and shuffling back and forth on my flats, with a mix of nervousness, and if I were brutally honest, excitement. I don't know what to expect from this situation, him, or even from myself.

My bills on my end table keep getting bigger, and the bill collectors are more insistent. I have five days to come up that $1000, and I still haven't spoken to him about what he meant by financial benefits. I suppose it really didn't matter what I want from this relationship; I was here to keep what I need, and go.

"Yes?" An all too familiar smooth voice says over the intercom.

"Um, hello. It's Izzy Swan from the other night."

I wait for his voice to come back over the intercom with anticipation, but instead, get a buzzing sound that unlocks the door. I feel a little let down at not hearing his voice again.

There's a guard sitting in a circular, open desk, with monitors flashing images of people outside and in hallways from surveillance cameras that are attached to the building. He looks up from his magazine, and gives me a toothy smile. His eyes roam over me, and I get a sense of unease in the pit of my stomach. I put my head down and head to the elevators against the far wall.

The doors close to the elevator, and I get a good look at my appearance in the reflective metal of the doors for the first time since leaving my apartment. My hair is a wild and an untamed mane of mahogany locks, and my yellow winter coat is too large for my small frame. He will think I'm crazy if I knock on his door looking like a mad woman. I hit the open door button instead of the suite, and hurry out of the elevator towards the front desk where the creepy, smiling security guard is still sitting.

"Excuse me, is there a washroom I could use please?"

"Sure is." He points down a short hallway, but never takes his eyes off of me. "Just head on that way, and it's the first door on the right, Miss." He smiles so hard at me I see pointed teeth, and I can't help but think of a murderous dog attacking a small rabbit.

I give him a tentative smile back, nod my head in thanks, and go towards the hallway with quick steps. There was something about the man that didn't sit right with me.

I stand in front of the bathroom mirror with my yellow coat on, taking in my appearance with trepidation. What if I wasn't good enough for what he wants? I'm a frumpy girl from Washington with a past that still haunts me daily, and a daddy that wants to control what he thinks I want.

That wasn't enough even for me.

I lay my bag on the sink, pull my coat off quickly, and stuff it into the garbage can-the small sweater I brought would have to be enough for now. I wasn't about to lose this one shot I had at making my life right. If it meant freezing for a few short minutes, compared to freezing indefinitely, I was willing to endure. I ran my hands down my new short, dark blue dress while I gaze into the mirror with wide brown eyes.

I had walked by a store window, after getting off work today, and I couldn't help but stop to look at it on the mannequin. The dress is the same color as the room from the restaurant last night, hugs me in all the right places, and has a sweetheart neckline that plunges a little too low for my tastes, but draws attention to my pale chest. It had made me think of him, and I knew it was perfect for tonight.

I bring all of my hair on top of my head, and wrap a hair tie around it loosely, leaving a few long tendrils to frame my face. I take in a deep breath, and let it out in a whoosh of nervousness and excitement. This was as good as it gets.

Thankfully, the guard isn't at the desk, and I make it to the elevators without feeling like my skin is crawling from his utter creepiness.

The elevator ride up is long and quiet, except for the horrible, unrecognizable melody of the random elevator song that is playing overheard. The doors open up with a ding, and I see a giant set of wooden doors down a long hallway.

The man lives in a maze.

I hesitantly walk towards the door, my stomach doing flip flops, my palms sweating, and my heart beating so loudly I can hear it in my ears. I knock softly; maybe he won't hear it, and I can have an excuse to leave. But no such luck. The door opens, and I'm greeted with a lady singing a melancholy sonata, and him looking delicious and sinful.

He is as beautiful as I remember; maybe more so because of the casual way he is dressed. His dark jeans hang on him like a lover wrapping herself around him, and his charcoal colored t-shirt is plain, but I lick my parched lips at the buttons that lay open at his throat; giving me a view of finely tuned chest, and smooth skin with sprinkling of fine hair. His hair is disheveled more than the last time, and I feel my fingers itch to push the silky strands away from his forehead.

There was no way the man was mortal. No way.

"Ms. Swan, so glad you could join me this evening." He seems irritated, and I assume it's due to my lateness. The bubbles fizz and foam in my stomach once again.

"I'm so sorry, sir. Traffic was backed up for miles. I tried…" He puts his hand up to silence me, so I snap my jaw shut swiftly, and look down at the floor. Was this it? Was he getting rid of me before I even had a chance?

I don't want him upset with me. The very thought of him being anything but pleased with me leaves a horrible taste in my mouth.

And then I realize, the fact that I want to please this man, is a little unnerving. It's puzzling, and I'm starting to wonder if I've hit my head, or if something isn't right with me. This isn't me. This isn't familiar. I wasn't here to please him-well I was, but I was here for me. I was here to save myself from being out on the streets. I already knew what that felt like, and I would do anything at this point to make sure I never was again.

Never.

"Look at me when I speak to you." I bring wide, pleading eyes up to him-begging for understanding. "It's of no consequence, Ms. Swan. Did you bring your list?" Relief hits me like a Mac truck.

"Yes." I dig into my bag and pull out the folded piece of paper with shaking hands, my nerves starting to get the best of me. I had stayed up all night making out a list of questions that I could ask him. I know nothing about…well this, except for the hour or two I spent on Google at the library. I don't know what he expects from me. What I should expect from him. What is off limits? What is caning? What is a spreader bar? Did he want to spank me? Humiliate me? Beat me?

I know nothing about what is wrong or right. Up could mean down, or vice a versa. He had seen my confusion at dinner the night before when we were discussing things, so he had offered a chance for me to ask any questions I wanted. Hence the list. And it was a long one.

"Very good. Shall we go into the den and get comfortable?"

"Yes, please." My voice is small, and I can't seem to calm down. I feel like my heart is pounding in my chest so hard, that it will shatter my ribs, and end up on the floor by my practical flats.

I follow him down a hallway wordlessly, keeping my eyes on his firm backside the whole time. I cannot tell you what I pass, what his apartment looks like, or even notice if a flood were to pass through. All I can do is watch him, and drink him in like he demands. What is wrong with me? He makes me feel so small and fragile when I'm speaking to him. But when he's touching me and showing me what he can do to make my body sing, I feel so powerful and strong, and not at all like Izzy Swan.

I was Isabella. Someone exotic and different. Not at all like the shy reserved girl that I am.

We step into what looks to be a loft living room with giant windows, cream colored couches, and a massive, cherry wood fireplace that is giving off the only light in the room. I look at the floor to ceiling windows, and can't help but go towards them with wonder. My one window in my living room is so small and obsolete compared to these, and I can't ever seem to see anything out of them. These, however, I can see the city lights for miles. The moon is out now, its beams barely leaving an impression on the thousands of lights that are part of the city. With the lights twinkling like little stars against the black ink of the streets, and no noise, I feel like I'm in space. It's beautiful and ethereal, but leaves a sense of longing and loneliness inside of me.

Is this what he saw and felt like every night? Or is it just me?

"Chicago is beautiful isn't it, Ms. Swan?" His interruption is perfectly timed on his part. I was beginning to look deeper into who he was, and finding myself beginning to care.

"Yes. It really is." I am so afraid of what lies in wait with him. I want answers, and I want to know more of this world that he is part of, but I am so fearful of what he was, what he wants, and worse, what I might want besides an escape from my money issues. I want answers, but I'm afraid of what the answers might be.

I turn from the window with hesitation, and my breath catches in my throat when I look at him. He's too perfect, and too intense. His green eyes are brighter than usual, and I know I'm in too deep. I need to back up a bit, and tread into shallower waters before I go under.

I turn away from him and sit down on one of the couches, my back stick straight, and my face a mask of indifference. At least I hope it is. I look at the list, and pick the most impersonal question. "You mentioned in the ad that you will help financially. What exactly do you mean by this?"

He walks towards the opposite couch and sits down, making this simple task look sexy, and cause me to clear my throat loudly. I feel a bit more comfortable not having him so close to me, but I'm like a caged animal eyeing a predator with weary eyes.

"In the past, I have gifted my partners with various presents to show my appreciation." He takes a long pull from his cognac, his eyes unwavering and watchful. His look is hungry like the guards down stairs in the lobby, but I don't feel the repulsion and coldness like I did with him. I feel heat, and since I can't lie to myself, desire. I shift in my seat, and cross my legs to give myself something to do. He's so intense. "I expect my partner to stay with me on weekends, and to attend all important functions that are related to my position as head surgeon of Mercy Medical. You will wear what I choose and nothing else. I will of course pay for your new wardrobe, and anything else you will need while you are tied to me. Will this be problematic on your part?"

"No," I need to make sure he doesn't think I'm so desperate that I will agree to everything. "But I would like to have one, nonconsecutive Saturday and Sunday off in a month, wear my own clothes when I'm not needed, and be warned a full week before such functions."

His lip twitches, and he takes another pull from his drink. "Agreed."

He made that almost too easy.

The next question is a bit more personal. "What should I call you? I mean, I can't call you my boyfriend, or significant other. What am I allowed to call you?"

He brings a hand up to his mouth, and covers his lips with his fingers. I can't read his expression properly, and I start to feel the nervousness come back. "You may call me Sir or Master. I do prefer the latter of the two."

Master.

I nod my head in understanding, and glance back at the list in my hand. It was now or never. "What is it you want to do to me?" I lift my eyes to meet his face, and wait patiently. Well, not so patiently.

"Anything I chose to." His words are final, and I leave it at that.

"Do you plan on using chastisement when I'm not meeting your needs properly?" I let out a shaky breath, and smooth the paper with my trembling hand. "Will you spank me?"

The music that has been playing the whole time shifts to a piano solo. The softness of the melody is a semi calming balm to my nerves, but his face promises stormy weather and hurricanes. "I will not harm you, Isabella, but I will see that you do what I wish. Make no mistake, I will be more accommodating than normal at the beginning, but if you defy me, the punishment will be just and quick."

"I-I" I can't seem to get the words out of my mouth. His words reverberate deep within me, and I know he means every single one. I stand up quickly and walk towards the window that faces the cities twinkling lights, and endless, bottomless, black void. I wrap my arms around myself, and bite my lip hard to keep the tears at bay.

"What is it you want me to do?" It was an open ended question that meant so many things, and yet seemed so simple.

"I want you to _want _to make me happy." His voice is closer now.

"How do I do that?" I ask with defeat. I have no idea what this man could want that could make him happy.

"Let me touch you." Is that all?

He is so close now, I can feel his breath hitting me in waves of rich cognac and mint, and moving stray hairs by my ear. I stand where I am, facing away from him, trying my best to look unaffected by his magical hold over me.

Was I ready for this? For his touch? Was I ready to give my body to a stranger?

"Where?" This isn't a question on my list. I'm so breathless. Maybe I wasn't so good at being unaffected. Did I honestly need to know where? He could touch me anywhere, and I was lost to him, to his touch. I can't deny it to myself.

"Here." The tips of his fingers touch the back of my hand, that holds the list, with the slightest of touches, but I can feel the skin humming to life with heat and electricity. "Here" His other hand touches the inside of my left elbow just as softly, but with the same intense feeling as before. "Here" His hand moves from my fingers and touches beneath my chin; trailing his fingertips down to my neck, and leaving a path of humming, scorched flesh. I close my eyes tightly, relishing in his touch; fearful and intrigued where he might touch me next. The touch from my elbow is gone, and I hold my breath, waiting, burning, and breathing him in.

Where was he going to touch next? Would it be enough? Would I beg for more? I was on the precipice of need and want, and it all stemmed from him and his magical hands. I wasn't sure if there was one thing about him that wasn't magical and ethereal.

"Here." He growls the word into my ear, his lip touching the shell with a teasing stroke of soft lips and warm breath. His fingers skim the back of my knee in the briefest of caresses, and I can't stop the aching that I feel in me-in the most unfamiliar of places. He moves his fingers up, up, caressing, stroking my thigh, pushing the hem of my dress up with each movement of his skilled fingers, until he reaches the edge of my panties.

His fingers skim across the fabric with a feather light touch, stopping right before he reaches the apex between my thighs, and where I want him to touch me the most. I whimper and move, letting him know I want this. I want him.

That's all the encouragement he needs. His fingers brush against my hot core, once, twice, three times, before he starts rubbing his fingers more persistent against me.

I'm a horrible mess. My arms are dead, my legs are shaking, and I'm making noises that sound foreign and wrong even to my ears. But I can't stop. I can feel the pressure, the pain, the intensity building inside of me like water pushing against a dam.

"Mm…you make the sweetest noises, Isabella." His voice is liquid smoke and makes me whine with want.

I push my hips against his hand madly. I'm in need of more. What do I need?

Just…more.

"Please." I rasp incoherently. The fabric between his fingers and me is too much of a barrier. It might as well be yards of fabric instead of the thin material of my panties, as far as I am concerned.

He twirls me around until I'm facing him, the dark look on his face making me more frantic for release. He pushes the fabric of my panties aside, and dips a finger into me, pausing for a fraction of a second, before sinking into me deeper. My mouth gapes open, my eyes close, and I let out a silent moan, and still my body. It's a surprising, but welcome intrusion.

Yes.

More.

I'm on fire, and I don't want it to stop. I move my hips faster against his hand, feeling his finger move in and out of me repeatedly.

He is so unfamiliar. The things he is doing to my body are supposed to be wrong, but I can't bring myself to care. It feels too right to be wrong.

I can't help it.

I want, I need, and I burn for him.

That's when I realize why I want this so much, why I'm here instead of looking for another way out of my financial dilemma.

His fingers push in and out in punishing strokes, while his thumb brushes against my most private of places, and I let out a sob. The mix of pleasure and pain is brutal and fierce, but I find myself pushing into his hand with a savage hunger for more.

I threw caution to the wind, and answered the ad, even though I knew nothing about him, his world, or what he wants from me.

He's leaning down over me, one arm wrapping around my back for support, while the other is moving against me in the most torturous of ways.

Two days ago, if you were to ask me if I was capable of this, I would have snorted and quoted scripture on staying a true Christian. What I was doing was supposed to be wrong, and yet, it felt right. So right.

My body was his willing slave.

"Cum for me my sweet Isabella."

And he was my Master.

"NOW, Isabella!"

Then it happens. I can't stop myself from shattering into thousands of pieces of glass. I see nothing. I'm blind, my body becomes rigid, my hips push into his hand once more, and I feel the heat and wetness slide down my legs, and all over his hand. My release is so intense and strong, that I feel my body shaking from the effort. I fall into his hard chest when my body decides to go slack.

I'm dying. There is no other answer for the way I feel. I'm breathless, I'm weightless, and all I can smell is him. I take in a deep breath, inhaling his scent. I'm definitely dead, and this must be heaven.

I glance up at him through my hair, and take in his chiseled jaw line, the dimple in his chin, and his heavy lidded eyes. He pushes my hair from my eyes, and regards me with emerald colored eyes.

"You smell so divine." He gives me a wicked half smile, and tilts his head to the side while looking down at me. "I bet you taste as good as you smell."

Before I can answer, he brings his finger to his lips, and sucks on the tip, rolling his tongue around the pad, and humming in appreciation-as if he were tasting a gourmet meal instead of me.

"Correction. You taste even better." He purrs.

My heart jumps into my throat, and my body reacts even before I have time to respond with an answer of my own. Five words. Five words, and I want him. How could five words turn me into a ball of need and over raw emotions? What is _happening_ to me? This isn't familiar. This isn't who I am!

"Do you want to taste?" He implies with his wicked smile still in place.

"Of what?" I croak back with confusion. My throat and body is sore, but I don't care. This man in front of me has my full attention.

"You."

"I-I" I stutter with shock. What did he mean? How do I taste myself? If he expects me to touch myself down there and do what he did, I, well, I don't think I can bring myself to do that. It was one thing to have him do it, but I wasn't like that. I have never done anything like that in privacy, let alone with the audience of a beautiful stranger. "I'm not com…"

He pulls me closer, and brings his lips down to my own in a searing clash of lips and teeth, silencing my answer and giving me no time to pull away. His lips are taking, his teeth are nipping and pulling, and I taste something that I've never tasted before-me.

I should pull away in disgust and anger. I should bite down on his bottom lip, run for the front door, get in Charlie's truck, and never come back. I really should, but the only thing I do is tilt my head back to give him more.

"Master Edward." I whimper, pleading silently for more, and giving my consent to him. He has me. I want to bend to his will willingly. I want to feel his hands on me. I want

Master pulls me closer to him still, and I can hear a low growl coming from him. He grabs a hold of my hair that has fallen out of my loose bun, and pulls my head back further, bearing my neck to his waiting, hot mouth. He licks, bites, and sucks on my throat until I feel the heat starting to rise at an unbearable level, and I start to pant.

He kisses my neck with one final caress of lips, and pulls his head away from me reluctantly, nipping my ear, and making me shiver.

"You must go before I forget myself." He pulls away from me, and runs a hand through his hair. I can't help but feel a sense of loss at not having him near me anymore.

Master hands me a manila folder, and takes two steps back from me, taking a sip out of his glass. "I took the liberty of drawing up a contract. It may answer a lot of the questions you may still have in regards to our arrangement."

His attitude towards me is confusing, and I feel like I have a slight case of whiplash from his complete 180 he just made.

He must notice my confusion, because his face isn't as serious, and his eyes are smiling down at me. In this moment, I can read him like a book. He steps towards me once more, and brings a hand up to my cheek, his fingers caressing me from temple to chin. "Read the contract, Isabella. Make a decision when you alone are ready. I will wait until then." He kisses the corner of my mouth gently, and pulls away swiftly.

Definitely a case of whiplash.

* * *

The drive home is cold and lonely. With each passing mile I go in the opposite direction, I feel a stronger urge to go back there, knock on his door, get on my knees and beg him to take me; to make me his, and no one else.

I push my apartment door open, and wonder how I had gotten here so quickly. I don't remember anything except for him and his touch. His eyes. His smell. Just him.

I want him. I want his touch, his approval, his unnatural beauty. I crave for the unknown and unseen with this man. I'm scared, but that seems to take a back seat to the way he makes my body burn.

The things he does to my body are indescribable and carnal. My head keeps telling me I need to think this through, to take time in making a hasty decision. It's too quick, too soon, and I know nothing about him. I know nothing about being a submissive, but I want to please him. I want to hear him say my name with his smooth, deep voice. I want to make him feel like he made me feel tonight. Most of all, I need the promise of financial stability.

Does this make me a bad person? Am I his whore now?

This thought leaves me trembling and confused. Is that what I would be if I decided to be his?

I want to be touched by him in the darkest of places, and watch as he lights a blaze that will scorch me, brand me; make me writhe until I can't take anymore. I need more of what he gave me in his apartment.

Did that make me one because I craved his touch? Or was my situation forgivable?

I look at the endless pile of overdue bills, eviction notices, and lock away the guilt I'm feeling. I had four days to come up with $1000, or I was out of the street, doing exactly what I was worried about doing now, only it wouldn't be my decision or under my terms. I don't want to be those girls on the street corners, with empty eyes, track marks marring their bodies, and men's filth all over them.

I just need a chance.

I'm signing my name to the consent form he gave me, with hurried strokes of the pen, and a new determination. I refuse to live my life as an empty shell. What he offered me was my own salvation. It wasn't what most people would consider saving, but I saw it for what it is. For what he is. He was my salvation.

Not only that, I want this, I want him, and no amount of logic can explain what he can do to me, and why I am throwing away everything I've ever been told. I need this. I know it sounds crazy, but when he touched me tonight, and made me taste myself, I had changed. I wasn't Izzy Swan, preacher's daughter, from Forks, Washington, I was his Isabella. _His._

With that final thought, I fall asleep, curled up on my hand me down couch, with a smile on my face for the first time in what feels like forever, and my body aching for him.

* * *

**If you made it this far, you're absolutely fabulous! This chapter brought in some, ahem, Mastery goodness, and kind of hinted more on Izzy's past. Please, please, please leave some feedback. I'm not sure if you guys are liking where this is going, or if I should just delete, burn, rip, or water board the whole damned thing. I appreciate all the people that have taken time to leave a comment, and I have personally written back to almost all of you. You really know how to make a girl's day. :D**

**On another note, sorry for not updating for almost a month. Life has a funny way of being spontaneously inconvenient sometimes; but I'm always up for an adventure! I will update again in two weeks. **

**Until next time loves,**

**Sub Laney**


	5. Chapter 5

**S. Meyer owns all characters.**

**You are all SO wonderful! I can't express how much I appreciate you guys liking, alerting, commenting, and/or messaging me. It's amazing to know people like me; you really like me! Hehe Or at least my story idea. :D **

**I'm not perfect, so all mistakes are my own; be gentle. **

**Author's note below. See you at the bottom lovelies!**

* * *

I stretched my arms above my head to work out the kinks from the night before, and let out a huge yawn. It felt good to move after I was scrunched up into a ball on the couch all night. My eyes wonder to the cracks that are on my ceiling, and think about what had happened last night.

I'm more than positive last night was a dream.

Wasn't it?

Everything that had happened must have been a massive delusion brought on by stress, lack of sleep, and more than likely stemmed from his amazing eyes. And jaw. Oh, and hands. Mm, his hands had been too good to be true.

That's it. It was too good to be true. A figment of my imagination. A very vivid, wonderful, sleep deprived dream or imagination on my part. But I suppose that's to be expected, since I have four days before I'm thrown onto the streets, and back to the predicament I was in four years ago when I got to Chicago. I can understand why I didn't want to dwell on it, and come up with something that was a lot more…satisfying.

And my, oh my, it was beyond satisfying. His fingers had brushed against me with lightness at first, but I couldn't deny the intense pleasure they had brought me. The pleasure that had bordered on pain, and brought me to peaks so high I thought I was flying. It was beyond anything I could have ever imagined.

Then I had pleaded for more. More touches. More kisses. More of him. Just more. I felt my cheeks heat from the memory. The more he had given me the more I wanted to take.

I glanced over to my chipped coffee table, and noticed the manila folder that he had given me in the apartment last night. I feel myself flush red; it wasn't my imagination after all. Last night had really happened. His eyes staring into me, his breath intoxicating me, his hands touching places that haven't been touched in years, if at all. Those hands had brought me to the brink of insanity, and dragged me back to reality, drained, but yearning for more, and more than confused about how I felt with this whole situation I found myself in.

Was it okay to like what he did to me? To ask for more, even though I wasn't sure how much I could take, or even what he wanted to give? Was it okay to be in this for money and still like how his fingers danced across my skin? Or how his lips set a wild fire across my whole being?

I sit up slowly and grabbed for the folder with shaking hands and shaky thoughts, and opened up to the first page of the contract.

_The submissive, (submit name here), will commit to the Dominant, Edward Anthony Cullen, in a monogamous relationship until either she or he deems the relationship to be of unimportance or not beneficial for either party._

Wait, wasn't his last name Masen? I swear it said Masen in the ad. Was I imagining things, or did he change his name? Yet another question to add to the ever growing pile that seemed to be looking more and more like the Leaning Tower of Pisa by the second.

I tucked my questions away for another time, and read on.

_The submissive gives the Dominant all control when said Dominant and submissive are together._

_The Dominant will ensure that the submissive is always taken care of, and will come to no harm while they are together._

_The Dominant will provide financial stability and luxuries while the Dominant and submissive are in said relationship._

_The Dominant will not physically, mentally, psychologically, or publicly embarrass or hurt the submissive in any way shape or form. _

_If any of the rules of the contract are broken, or if the parties feel they have had their well-being or livelihood treaded upon, then the Dominant and submissive have complete control to leave the relationship freely with no repercussions. _

_All activities the Dominant and submissive engage in and personal information they share with one another will not be told to a third party. _

I stopped reading and blinked madly at all the jargon and rules used on the first page, and can't help feel like I've gotten myself in too deep. Was this a relationship, or a mortgage? Did I need to have a background check, a drug test, and promises of my first born? Maybe I should have read the contract a bit more carefully before signing the consent on the last page.

I flipped to the next page and skimmed through the hygiene and personal information section. Blah blah blah…shaving. Odd.

Blah blah blah…full name, birth date, and social security number. That's the easy stuff.

Blah blah blah…corporal punishment.

Corporal punishment? What was that? I stopped skimming the page and started reading the section with extreme curiosity.

_If the Dominant feels the submissive has defied him in some way, corporal punishment will be deemed a necessary action to rectify the defiant behavior. Such actions will be, but not limited to: caning, spanking, paddling, bound for extended periods of time, and/or any other punishment the Dominant feels is warranted for the action. However, as stated before, no lasting physical pain, scarring, or impairment will be administered to the submissive during this process. _

I drop the folder onto the coffee table like it was a hot coal, and rub my eyes with my still shaking hands. It was too much, too fast.

Corporal punishment? He intended to use punishment on me if I didn't do what he wanted. What if it was something I didn't feel comfortable doing? Would be force me to do it anyways?

This wasn't even something I understood on an amateur level, let alone the complexity of a contract.

I needed help and someone to talk to, but the only person I knew here was Charlie. I took a deep breath and sighed. Telling Charlie was definitely out of the question. There was no way I could dive into that can of worms when I had no answers to any questions that he might have.

Charlie, being Charlie, would even offer to help pay for my bills, knowing full well he could barely afford to keep the diner and himself a float. Cost of living in Chicago wasn't cheap, and I couldn't live with myself knowing he would struggle because of me, and in the end, leave us both destitute.

As much as I hated to admit it, that left one person.

* * *

I walked into the hospital, my rain boots squeaking on the clean, white linoleum of the floor as I made my way to the back of the hospital. Sir's office was located away from the main building, and nestled in between the Oncology and day surgery offices.

I walked over to who I assumed was the receptionist, but couldn't help but frown at the low cut, too tight blouse that looked like it was about to rip apart any second by her over the top boob job.

"Hello, I'm Isabella Swan, and I'm here to see Mr. Edward Ma…Cullen please." The secretary lifts her finger up at me, and doesn't lift her eyes up from the book she seems so eager to finish. I'm surprised she can read at all. I sigh, and look around the small waiting area, waiting as patiently as my too raw emotions will let me, and clutching the manila folder to me like a life line.

Patients are staggered through the room, and I can't help but feel like I'm making a mistake in asking for any of his time. He had a very important job, and no time for my insecurities and nonsensical questions.

I jump when the secretary clears her throat, and asks, "Do you have an appointment?"

"Um…no I do not. But if he isn't busy, I would only like a moment of his time."

"If you would like to see Dr. Cullen, please schedule an appointment with his secretary." And just like that, I'm dismissed. I can't leave here without seeing him. It took every ounce of determination and confidence to get on the bus and come down here. And now, I've been turned away by the overdone dragon at the front gate. That just wasn't going to happen! I was driving myself bonkers with the 'what if' and 'then what' questions, and I needed solid answers!

"Please!" I realize I grabbed onto her desk, and I must look like a mad woman based on the wide eyed look the pretty receptionist/dragon is giving me. "Please," I say softer, "it's very important."

She regards me with a critical eye; taking in my disheveled hair, and oversized clothes. I can't help but feel like a frumpy mess compared to her immaculate skirted suit, well placed, although a smidge too much, make up, and not a hair out of place chiffon up do. She reaches for the phone, never taking her eyes off of me, and hits a button.

Was she calling security? I didn't blame her. If I saw someone come in demanding, like a lunatic, to see a doctor, I would have probably done the same thing. And even asked for the complimentary straight jacket, and padded room suite.

The man was slowly driving me insane!

"Dr. Cullen," She gives me a thin lipped smile, and I smile back at her, even though I know she could care less. I put she has pointed teeth.

"There is an Isabella Swan here to see you." She hums in the phone at whatever he says over the phone, and nods her head, looking away from me for the first time since I went all Angelina Jolie from _Girl Interrupted _on her. "Yes, sir." She listens again. "Of course sir." She giggles into the phone, and twirls her hair on her finger, and then puts the phone back down on its cradle.

She looks back at me, the smile still stretched across her face, and I can't help but feel like reaching across the desk and smacking the smile right off her with Edward's contract. She's so damned annoying!

What? What the-where did that come from? That wasn't a reaction I was familiar with. Nor the feelings involved in it. What was he doing to me?

"Dr. Cullen will see you now." She pushes herself away from the desk, and points a long, purple coated fingernail down the hallway. Even her nail polish is annoying. "Walk down this hallway, and take a left. His office is the first door on the right. Would you like me to show you, or do you think you know where to go?"

I want to say it sounds like a maze and why don't you show me, but I'm starting to get the irrational thoughts of my backpack knocking her upside her perfectly sculpted blonde head, and me yelling 'he's mine!' in her too much makeup wearing face.

But instead of violently attacking her, I smile politely instead. "No thank you. I think I know where to go."

I arrive in front of the door, and give a soft knock on the door; waiting for his invitation to enter. If he didn't answer, maybe it was for the best. Maybe that was my sign or an omen to stop before I got a head of myself. However, I hear a quick bark to enter, and I'm silently berating myself for even thinking of such silly notions as signs and omens.

I push open the door slowly, and peek my head into his office with uncertainty and deep curiosity. What was his office like? Were the walls covered in chains and whips, or pictures of girls' spread eagle on beds, half dressed, and eyes hooded with pleasure?

I'm wildly disappointed when I see nothing but a frame with his diploma inside, and sterile white walls enclosing him in. I feel myself blush, and put the back of my cold hand to my burning flesh. He was so hard to understand.

"Close the door if you please, Ms. Swan. If I were to make an educated guess, I would say you aren't here for a referral or an exam." He lifts an eyebrow at me, and stares at me through his long lashes, while a smile spreads across his handsome face, giving me the perfect view of the dimple in his chin, and the small crinkling in the corners of his eyes. His smile reminds me of a lazy cat sitting in the sun, aching to be pet and played with. "Unless you are here for an exam, and in that case, I would be more than delighted to assist you."

This was a really bad idea.

"I..I..ah." I clear my throat and look down at my rain boots; gesturing at the manila folder that he had given me last night, and feeling myself start to blush…again. "No, sir. I was going over the first draft of the contract agreement, and I can't help but voice a few concerns."

"Yes. I remember you voicing a few last night. Quite loudly if I remember correctly."

I lift my gaze to him, and regard him through narrowed my eyes. Was he intentionally being coy, or was it just me? His gaze was even, but held a promise that I wasn't sure I wanted him to keep. But I couldn't see any signs of him referring to what he had done to me last night.

All I could think about was his hands touching me, rubbing against the most sensitive areas, while I moaned and writhed against his hands for more. While his lips touched places that hadn't been touched in years or not at all.

I faintly hear him saying something to me, and I can't help the blush that hits my face like a blast from a furnace. "I'm sorry, what did you say?" The last thing I needed was him knowing I was thinking of last night, and that I was affected by him. I need to keep this as professional as possible. I needed to be Donald Trump professional. Only without the horrible comb over and duck lips.

"Ms. Swan, do you intentionally walk into a person's place of employment and ignore them, or is it a trick to further mystify me?"

I was more than slightly taken aback. Me? Mysterious? "I think you have me mistaken for the wrong person, sir. I couldn't be further from mysterious."

He smiles at me with that smile I've grown to like; his dimples in his chin and right cheek looking delicious and lickable.

His long fingers come up to stroke his chin in thought, and I lick my lips, wondering what it would be like to touch him with my own fingers in various spots. "I can't say I think of anybody else as of late, Ms. Swan. You seem to be preoccupying my thoughts."

My eyes widen, and I know I must look like a surprised, waterlogged little girl. Why would I be on his mind at all? I was just a poor, disowned woman from Forks. And he was…well he was exactly everything I wasn't or could ever be.

He pushes away from his desk, his eyes on me the whole time; looking at me with an openness that makes me squirm a little. His long fingers brush against my cheek, and I try my hardest to keep my eyes open and not push into his hand, asking for more.

"I'm wet, sir."

He lifts an eyebrow in question, and smiles that glorifying crooked smile. "Is that right, Ms. Swan?"

What…NO! "I meant it's raining outside, and I'm still damp from being outside."

"I see." He pulls me to him anyway; plastering my body against his. "I won't melt." His breath is warm against my chilled neck, and I feel a slight shiver run down my spine. Whether it's from the warmth or him, I can't be sure. All I know is that I like how it makes me ache in the oddest and most unfamiliar of places.

"Come to my flat tonight, Isabella. Let me show you what I have been wanting to do to you since I first saw you."

"But what about the contract? I haven't even signed it." I lied. I didn't feel good about it, but I also hadn't gotten the answers I wanted from him.

"Contract be damned. I want to show you what you do to me." He pulls away, looks into my eyes for a second, and then smiles at me encouragingly. He must have found what he was looking for, because he takes my hand that's on his shoulder, and trails it down his chest, past his stomach, until I'm touching the bulge that's straining against his well-trimmed, creased pants. His inhale of breath is more than enough encouragement on my part. I look away from him and look at where my hand is cupping him so intimately.

"How?" I ask softly, and look at him through my eye lashes. His face was in hard lines, and looked like it was in pain.

"You have this effect on me I would say is close to sorcery; if I were to put it into terms." He chuckles lightly, and pushes the stray, wet hairs away from my face. "Your very presence makes me want you, Isabella."

I look at my hand that's placed on the front of his trousers, and feel a surge of satisfaction and pride rip through me.

I did this. I made him want me, and I hadn't even done anything. I had the same effect on him that he had on me. What were the odds of that happening?

What if I...

I brush my fingers over him gently, and rub my thumb in circles across the course fabric. He hisses, and grabs onto my hand, pushing himself into the palm of my hand with eagerness and want.

"Tonight." It wasn't a question, but more of a statement.

He knew I wouldn't say no, but I still felt the need to let him know I wanted him as much as he wanted me. "Tonight," I whisper back, my eyes locking onto his emerald colored gaze. There was a fire there that looked like it could burn me alive, but I knew I would willingly jump into the flames if he asked me to.

"Until tonight then." He kisses my forehead with his soft lips, and I close my eyes at the tenderness and promise that I know comes with the action.

He was such an enigma. One minute he is so dominant, and in the next, he's falling apart like me.

* * *

I can't help the smile that seems to be plastered across my face, nor the skip in my step as I head towards the bus station from the hospital. I don't even think too hard about not getting a chance to ask the questions I wanted answers to; because it didn't matter. I got the answers that I needed.

I knew exactly what I wanted, and that was financial stability he offered me. But most of all, I wanted Master Edward and his dimples.

* * *

**I am SO sorry I haven't posted in two months. I have had a lot of personal issues and situations come up in the last few months, and have had to take a hiatus. I thank each and every one of you for the support and the encouragement so far. I can't thank you enough for it. **

**Much love,**

**Sub Laney**


	6. Chapter 6

**All characters are owned by the good lady, S. Meyer. I just like to dress them up (or down). ;) Be gentle. All mistakes and errors are my own. **

**Author's note down below. See you at the bottom!**

It was 10:52, and I round the corner with hurried steps so that I wouldn't be late for my shift at diner_. _The impromptu meeting at the hospital had been…enlightening, and left my head reeling with thoughts of him and nothing else when I left. Which is why I was practically out of breath now (and more than likely looking like a frantic junky looking for my next fix) from trying to get to the restaurant on time. I had left the hospital with a smile on my face and the feel of his body on my mind and the tingling between my legs almost uncomfortable. But the further I got from the hospital, my head seemed to take over and my body took a back seat. The tingling wasn't there anymore, but the uncomfortable feeling was.

As much as I want to skip my shift at the diner and run directly to his penthouse apartment, fall to my knees, beg for sweet release and his touch, and more of what he gave me in his apartment; I know I need the money. And more than anything, a chance to catch my breath. I need the time to think and get my emotions under control, and to feel more like Izzy and not his Isabella.

The man was a walking contradiction. His pull on me wasn't something I could control if I went in there with anything less than a level and clear head. And I couldn't risk having anything but a sound mind around a man like Master Edward Masen. Or was it Cullen? In the ad it had been Masen, but at the hospital no one knew him as anything but Cullen. Maybe it was a pseudo name or something? I suppose if I were him I wouldn't want people knowing who I really was either. Or at least what I was in to.

Whatever that might be.

Was he into tying up? Pain? Would he make me beg?

My mind flashes to the picture of the girl from the internet, and that tingling starts to come alive again.

I feel my body shiver, and push it off as a chill from the horrible Chicago weather instead of a response to him. I couldn't turn around now.

Not to mention, I could never leave Charlie short-handed on a Saturday with only Vic and Bree as servers. Between the two of them, Charlie said the place would 'go to hell in a hand basket' if I didn't tell them what to do. They meant well, but neither one could keep up with the demands of the crowd. Though we weren't as busy as the other restaurants in the district, we still made out rather well on weekends with the young college crowd and the hand full of regulars.

I push the door open quickly, and am greeted by the warmth of the building, and the smell of cleaning products and grease. We aren't busy yet, but come noon the place would be jamb packed with rowdy college students, and the occasional lone patron who ordered coffee and tipped you with a goose to your back side, and a horrible pickup line. It wasn't my dream job, but the people I work with are my family, and I can't help but be thankful I even have a job, or a place that I can be myself.

Vic's standing over by a booth, twisting her red hair around her finger, and giggling at whoever has gotten her attention today. She 'accidently' drops her pen on the floor, and bends over to pick it up. Giving the man in the booth a good view of her cleavage that's hanging out of her white top, and her trademark smile, along with a saucy wink. I shake my head, and smile at her antics. She always had her priorities wrong when it came to boys, and didn't have a problem being forward. Me…I was the exact opposite. I couldn't flirt without turning every color of red known to man and stuttering like a bad impression of _Rain Man_.

I roll my eyes and notice Bree is behind the counter frantically stocking the napkin holders and straw containers with shaking hands. She's such a sweet and nice girl, but her nerves always got the best of her.

Poor girl. I know exactly how she feels sometimes. It wasn't long ago I was just like her. Skittish and afraid of my own shadow when I came to Chicago looking for a fresh start.

"Heya Bree!" I greet her enthusiastically.

She looks up and her face instantly transforms into a toothy smile. "Oh Izzy," she sighs in relief and sweeps back her too long bangs from her eyes. "I'm so glad you're here tonight. I didn't think you were coming."

"You should know better, B." I tease, and then flip her pony tail up as I breeze by the counter. I call to her over my shoulder. "I'm just going to hang my stuff up, and then I'll get started on the side salads and wrapping silverware."

She says something, but I can't hear her as I head towards the back to hang my coat and hat on the hooks by the time clock. I grab my hair up high on my head and secure it with a hair tie before I slide my time card underneath the clock and grab my black, ruffled apron with my name on it. I tie it tightly around my waist and head into the kitchen to wash my hands and ask Charlie if I could stay for a shorter shift instead of my usual 10 hours.

I try telling myself it had nothing to do with a certain someone, and more to do with the fact I hadn't slept well the night before, but I was such a bad liar.

Charlie's standing over the other smaller grill across from the decommissioned Big Bertha, slinging burgers and muttering under his breath while his moustache is twitching like an agitated cat's tail. I smile at him even though I know he can't see me. The man always could brighten my mood.

"Hey Charlie. Can I talk to you for a sec?" I yell over the sizzling food and din of the patrons in the diner. It was now or never.

Without looking away from the grill, Charlie yells back in greeting, but holds up his finger to signal for me to wait until he has a moment, and then flips two burgers in the air with a quick flick of his wrist, and places them on awaiting plates under the heat lamp.

He hits the bell with his fist, and bellows, "Order up, Vic!"

Charlie puts two more burgers up on the grill, and sprinkles his secret seasoning on them before he turns towards me, with his hands on his hips, and a smile on his face. His eyes take in my expression, and the smile fades from his face. He narrows his eyes at me and regards me intently. "What's going on, Iz?"

I bite my bottom lip, and contemplate telling Charlie I was crazy and about to be in a screwed up relationship, or at least what you would call a relationship, with a stranger who made my insides quake, my knees buckle, and my heart skip a beat and start a new pattern on its own. I wanted to tell him so he would talk some sense into me, but when I looked into his bright blue eyes, and bushy grey-brown beard, I just couldn't get it out. In the four years I had been at _Harry's, _Charlie had become a father figure who tended to take his adopted role very seriously.

I start fiddling with a loose thread on my apron, and took an extreme interest in my newly purchased Goodwill knock off Converse I bought just this morning. "Well…" I take a deep breath, and start again. "I really would like to…"

"Iz." He says calmly, encouraging me to finish my thoughts.

His eyes are on me, looking at me with openness and blatant understanding and trust.

Oh Charlie. I just couldn't disappoint him.

I can't do it.

I give him a small smile and turn to wash my hands in the sink again just to give me something to do. "I just wanted to say how much I appreciate everything you do for me, Old Man."

"Iz," Charlie says gruffly.

I freeze and stiffen my shoulders. I know Charlie well enough to know he was going to bring up something I didn't want to hear. I turn around slowly so I'm facing him.

His hands squeeze my shoulders reassuringly, and his blue eyes twinkle. "Boy or girl?"

"Wha?" What was he talking about?

"I've never seen you this flustered before, Izzy. My guess is there's a reason behind it. So, boy or girl?"

Did…did Charlie just ask if I was a lesbian?

"I'm, I…" What did I even say to that? For one, how did he know I was even thinking about someone? And two, why would he think I might be gay?! "Charlie, I'm not gay," I murmur and feel my cheeks flaming red with embarrassment.

He clears his throat and pats his stomach, looking out the front windows and nods his head once with a grunt. "Good to know." He mutters, and his moustache twitches.

I can just make out the redness on his cheek beneath his scraggly beard, and I know he's blushing. Good to know I'm not the only one who is uncomfortable with this conversation.

He clears his throat and rubs his over-sized belly with a hairy paw, and smiles at me. He lays a hand on my shoulder softly and squeezes gently. "He would be a bonafide igit to not want to be with you, little mouse." He hadn't called me that in such a long time. I could feel the prickling of tears behind my eyes.

He turns back to the grill and flips the burgers over with another practiced flick of his wrist. "He better be good ta ya, Iz. Or I'll have to beat the stupid right outta em." He grabs a clean plate from beside the stove, grabs the fries from the hot grease, and plops the burger on top of the heated, buttered bun all in one motion. He slams his meaty fist down on the bell, puts the plated food under the heat lamp, and throws the ticket by the plate. "Order up, Vic!"

And that was that. Charlie was a man of very few words, but I always knew he said exactly what he meant.

* * *

Come 7, I'm still taking orders, cleaning up tables, dodging wondering hands, and pretending to find blatantly sexual jokes about my chest funny; when I want to do nothing more than roll my eyes and hit them with my notepad.

Vic pokes me in the arm with her freshly manicured red nails, and pops her gum loudly, grabbing my attention from the orders that I'm placing from my two other tables. We are slammed. Which had been a good distraction from my current situation with a certain someone.

"Hey chica, there's a guy that asked to sit in your section. And boy is he a cutie patootie. I sat him at booth 4." She grabs some menus out of the rack by the register with a wink my way, snaps her gum loudly, and leaves to greet the customers that have just walked in the door.

I look at my notebook and head towards booth 4 wearily. Another regular to pinch my cheeks, and gently let down when he offers to take care of me like a 'real man', all while trying to still get a tip.

I was exhausted. I glance at the clock on the wall behind the cash register; only 3 more hours and I could start doing my side work.

"Welcome to _Harry's. _Our special is the hot ham and cheese hoagie with your choice of two sides, and a slice of pie for only $8.98. What can I get for…" I look up and logical Izzy decides she's taking a vacation and I'm on my own. I stop mid stride, and can't help the surprise look I'm sure is on my face.

His eyes are greener than I remember, and I'm sure I must look like a special kind of idiot gawking at him, and standing in the middle of the aisle with ketchup on my shirt, ranch dressing on my skirt, and my hair pulled up in a messy bun.

He, on the other hand, looks out of place with his faded designer jeans and dark green sweater on. No ketchup or ranch stains, and his hair is that tamed mess on top. I lick my lips and pull my skirt down a bit further. For some reason it feels shorter.

Play it cool Izzy.

I push a piece of hair behind my ear, take in a deep breathe, and then let it out with a silent sigh. Then I look back at him with my horrible confidence. "What are you doing here?"

Okay, that wasn't what I was planning on saying. Way to play it cool, Iz.

He lifts his eyebrow slightly, and I feel the heat hit me like a furnace in the seven layers of hell. One side of his lips curls up, and my mouth goes completely dry.

Oh my.

"Hello, Isabella." His voice is a velvet blanket, and I want to curl up in it, in front of a fire naked.

It wasn't fair that he could look so darn put together and suave while I look like I got attacked by the condiment monster.

He takes his piercing eyes off of me and I start to regain my composure. He looks at the menu like he's genuinely interested in what's on it; completely ignoring the fact I'm standing there with my nerves on end and sweaty palms.

So he wants to play this game? "What can I get for you, _sir_?" I make sure to emphasize the last word enough so I know he hears it. I want him to hear it.

Green eyes flash to mine, narrow, and light a fire in me that is all consuming and brilliant. I can't do this. He was too much. This was too fast.

"I'll have coffee. Black."

I swallow hard. "I'll get that right for you."

Our finger tips touch when he hands me his menu. I stop a gasp when the tingling shoots all the way up my arm. I look at him wide eyed. His eyes are anything but calm. They were a storm on the ocean, and I was without a life vest.

I return moments later with a pot of coffee in hand and a clean mug. I pay close attention to the steam coming up as I pour the hot liquid into the chipped cup.

I didn't need to look at him to know he was watching my every move. How was pouring coffee so darn hard all of a sudden?

After setting the mug and napkin down on the aged laminate table, I look down at the ground. "Would you care for anything else?"

There's silence. And I'm so tempted to look up and see what he might be thinking. "There is a great many things I would like, Isabella. However, this isn't the time nor the place for it."

My eyes shift to his face.

Maybe I could play this game.

"And what time and place would be sufficient, sir?"

His eyes scan my body slowly. Taking in every flaw and ketchup stained imperfection with stormy eyes and a stoned face. I hold my ground and meet his gaze dead on.

I may not be perfect, but I was happy with who I was, and no man, Master or not, was going to make me feel like I was less of a person. It had taken me years to run from the shadows of my past and become the person I had always wanted to be.

If he didn't approve of what he saw then this…this…_thing_ didn't need to go any further. Whatever this was.

"You are utterly perfect, Isabella."

I push a piece of stray hair behind my ear and let out a laugh. "Now you're just poking fun at my expense, _sir."_

His long fingers touch the back of my hand, eliciting a small zap of electricity that shoots through my body, and takes up residence in my stomach. And for once, I can really read his face.

Sadness.

So much sadness. "I would never say anything that I don't fully believe."

"Excuse me. I have side work to do." I mumble incoherently before walking away as fast as my thrift store shoes will carry me.

His face was too raw. Too vulnerable and open, and I didn't know the first thing to say to him.

I make it to the back store room before I start hyperventilating. I lean my forehead against the doorframe and close my eyes against the twittering in my stomach.

When I finally get myself under control, I come back up front, and notice his booth is empty except for the coffee cup and pot that I had placed in front of him earlier.

I push away the disappointment. I must have scared him off after all.

Bree's shifting back and forth on her feet, nervous and looking like she might faint any moment. Her hands clasped together in front of her chest. "Izzy."

"What's wrong, Bree? Are you okay?"

She holds out her hands and opens them up. There's a folded up piece of paper laying against her palms. I look at it for a moment expecting it to start talking like a Howler from Harry Potter.

Bree pushes her hands closer to me, "It's from the gentleman at 4." She blushes and shifts from side to side again. "He's a very intimidating man."

I can't help it. I smile a little. "You have no idea, B."

It looks like I wasn't the only one who became a fuddling teenager around him.

I reach for the paper in her hand and pinch it between my thumb and forefinger; placing it into my apron pocket for safe keeping. I want so badly to read it, but Bree was watching me with curious eyes. I had such a horrible poker face.

"I'm taking a 15, B. Will you cover my tables for me?"

"Sure thing, Izzy." Bree smiles at me and nervously eyes the front of the diner. She looks like I had asked her to defend The Shire against the Orcs of Mordor instead of getting a customer a refill or a napkin.

I smile back at her reassuringly. "You'll be fine. You got this, B."

Her shoulders go up in a semi-shrug. "Sure."

I can't hold off opening the note before I get to the back store room. I unfold the note with trembling hands.

The man could make me nervous without even being there.

Money drops to the floor from the note, and I stare at it with shock. A hundred dollar bill folded in half.

I bend down to pick it up, and notice it's just one of many hundreds. I count them slowly, deliberately taking my time so I could compose myself before reading his words.

$1000.

Why had he left me with so much money?

His bill had only been $2.25.

I shake my head back and forth. It doesn't make any sense. Maybe his note would tell me why?

My eyes follow the words on the page. His elegant handwriting looping and scrolling across the page like a timeless doctrine.

**To one Miss. Isabella Swan,**

**I had hoped to speak to you before departing, but a pressing matter came to my attention moments after you had left. **

**I understand it was quite a surprise to see me enter your place of employment, but I had to see you before tonight and to gage whether or not I have scared you away. It is not my intention to hurt you in any shape or form. However, it is my intent to make you more aware of who you are by opening your eyes to new experiences and possibilities. **

**I cannot understand the pull you have on myself, Isabella. However, I hope to get the chance to find out the truth behind this intense attraction, and give you an experience I hope benefits you as greatly as I know it will for myself. **

**I do hope to see you soon.**

**Entirely bewitched,**

**Master Masen**

No explanation of the money.

Just words.

Really hot words.

I look at the money in my hand. Was he trying to buy me? Was what we were agreeing to a simple business arrangement, or was I just another girl that sold her body for the highest paying customer?

The money in my hand seems to leave a burning sensation. I stuff it in my apron to be rid of it. The anger and humiliation was so intense.

If he thinks I'm just some girl he can throw money at, he had another thing coming to him. Mister Fancy pants would see another side of me entirely.

I could mail the money back to him and write a little note of my own. But the look on his face when I shoved it in his face sounded so much more appealing and personal.

Master owned by the submissive.

Victoria pops her gum loudly, startling me from my thoughts.

I hurriedly crumple up the note and stick it into my apron.

She puts her hands on her hips and cocks a thin eyebrow at me. "You look like you've been caught with your hand in the cookie jar, sister. What ya doing back here anyways. Bree's about ready to have a heart attack. She had to take an order while you've been off sneaking around in the storage room."

Oh no, Bree! "Just finishing up my break, Vic." I give her a thin smile, trying to hide the tornado of emotions. "I'm heading out now."

I start past her, but she grabs my arm before I can make it out of the door. Her yellow-brown eyes look at me. "You sure you're okay, Izzy? You don't seem like yourself." She wags her eyebrows at me. "It wouldn't have anything to do with a certain booth 4 hottie, would it?"

"No, of course not." I answer too quickly.

"Uh huh. And I'm the Virgin Mary." Her hand lets me go. I step towards the sink, and wash my hands thoroughly, hoping Vic would get the message.

I should have known better.

"Have you guys done it yet?"

"Vic!" I am absolutely mortified!

"What? We're all adults here. I just wanted to know."

She was really starting to irritate me. I narrow my eyes at her and put my hands on my hips. "Theoretically, what if we have?"

She copies my stance and pops her gum. "Then I would ask you if he was good to you. Then you would say 'why yes, Vic, he's positively wonderful'. And then I would say he better be, or I'll kick his ass so hard, that he'll be hearing himself fart. Theoretically, of course."

I laugh. There was nothing else to do when you had a momma bear, which looked like a model on Vogue magazine, looking over you. "Good to know."

My feet carry me up front, but my mind couldn't be further from here. There was too much happening too fast.

I was lucky I had found a good group of people that would have my back no matter what happened. But I can't help but wonder if they knew what it was I was doing, would they have my back like they always did…

**O.o Hello everyone! I am terribly sorry for the hiatus for the last…decade? Lol I've had this chapter, or part of it, sitting on my computer for some time now, but hadn't been able to sit down and bust out the last few paragraphs until now.**

**The next chapter will be full of Mastery goodness. Until next time! **

**IMPORTANT NOTE: Anyone that reviews, will get a sneak peek into the next chapter. Hope to hear from you all. :D **


	7. Chapter 7

**All characters are owned by the good lady, S. Meyer. I just like to dress them up (or down). ;) Be gentle. All mistakes and errors are my own. **

**Author's note down below. See you at the bottom!**

Charlie always said, 'nothing good happens after 10 pm in Chicago.'

It's 10:17 at night, and I'm starting to think that Charlie was on to something. Instead of stretching out on my lumpy mattress at my apartment, nursing my sore feet, and drinking my chia tea, I'm standing in front of his building again.

The wind blows through my bun and whips pieces of hair that has fallen out, causing the wind to hit my neck with its ice cold breath. It's colder outside than the normal Chicago winter, but my feet are stuck to the concrete, and my eyes won't look away from the towering, dark goliath of a building.

I still had on my work uniform, and the money that he had given me was pushed as deep in my apron as it would go, with my hand gripping it so tight that my knuckles were hurting.

When I had read that note and saw that money float to the floor, I had wanted to leave work early, but I stayed to make a point. Whatever the hell kind of point that was. I'm not sure if it was for me, or if I wanted to prove to Mr. All Too Mysterious and Sexy that I wasn't going to come whenever he left a note; a steamy, panty dropping note, and a wad of $100 bills. I had to show that I deserved to be treated like a human being and not as a paid play thing.

My mind flashes to the images of the library internet search. Who was I kidding? I really was just a play thing. As my cheeks start to burn, I feel the heat come alive in my stomach. Even though my mind was chastising my inner hussy, my body just couldn't seem to be ashamed of what it was feeling right now.

I finally feel a chill hit me so hard that it shakes me to the core. I grip the money a little bit tighter while my mind plays back to when he had me whimpering in his apartment just days before. I push the top button on the golden plaque with one shaking finger and lean my forehead against the coldness of the metal. My skin was on fire and I was dizzy. He wasn't even near me and my mind couldn't take control over the havoc that was taking over my body.

"Yes." His voice was smooth and rough all at the same time, and I come to the realization that I will never be prepared for when he speaks.

"Hello." I whisper into the speaker. "It's me." Like he knows who this is, Izzy! "I mean, it's Izzy Swan."

There is no answer. The silence is so loud in my ears, that I'm starting to wonder if the last thing I hear from him might be that simple 'yes'. He might not let me up. My body feels defeated and cold all of a sudden. Maybe I really had lost my chance. I hadn't thought he might not want to see me. It didn't cross my mind once on the walk over here. I just kept thinking about him.

Master. His hands. And I was his willing puppet. I want to feel those hands on me. In me. Rubbing those places that hadn't ever been touched that way before. But with every passing second of silence, my body began to revert back to being…numb? Is that what that was? Was I numb before I had met Master Edward?

Then the buzzer sounds loudly in my inner monologue. I would have to come back to that one later.

I push away from the side of the archway, and throw the door open like I'm trying to escape and find shelter from the ugly sand worms from _Tremors_.

The biting cold disappears once the doors close behind me, but now I'm in the midst of shiny marble flooring and a giant sparkling chandelier that leaves a soft glow over the not so common, common area. My work clothes seem frumpier now that I'm inside his world. I feel myself start to fidget with the cuffs of my jacket and lifting onto my toes with apprehension.

There is a different man sitting behind the desk, looking at me with suspicious, narrowed eyes. "Can I help ya, miss?"

I lick my lips and clear my throat. The sound echoing off of the tall, window filled, walls. "Uh, no thank you. I'm here to see a…ah…friend."

The man squints until all I can see is fuzzy black eyebrows where his eyes are supposed to be. "I see. May I help you with anything?"

"No. I know where to go. Thank you." I smile at him timidly and walk towards the bank of elevators and push the up button. They hire some really scary security guards at this place. I wonder what they all did before being hired here?

Ex-military?

Secret service?

High school librarian? I let out a loud snort just as the doors open to the elevator with a ding. Stepping inside, I push the very top button. The doors close and I can feel the car start upwards swiftly, and leave behind my unimpressed library friend.

I lean my back against the faux gold…or was it real gold…walls and let out a shaky laugh. The gold is polished so there isn't a streak to be seen. I look at the closed doors and take notice of my appearance for the first time tonight in the streaked free golden box from hell. Damn cleaning ladies could have at least left a few streaks. I look horrible. I'm still covered in food from my shift, my hair is high up on my head, strands coming down out of the loose bun I had thrown it up in when I first got to Harry's, and the laces to my knock off chucks are untied. I lean down and tie them as fast as I can. The clothes, well, there wasn't much hope there, but I pull my hair tie out and run my fingers through my hair before deciding on a loose braid. Just as I'm finishing up, the doors open up at my destination with a rather cheerful ding.

The walls are cream with white crown molding aligning the tops of where the walls meet the ceiling, and dark grey plush carpet runs the length of the almost as long as a run way hallway. The hallway itself was bigger than my apartment. I notice the only doors are at the opposite end of the elevator; a cream colored double door at the very end of the hallway, with an intricate golden door knocker in the shape of a man's face with curling hair, that's holding the rounded knocker in his mouth. I'm suddenly reminded of the part in the movie the Labyrinth where there are two doors, with two heads, and only one opened up to the right way.

I walk the length of the hallway, surprised at how quickly I arrived in front of the doors considering the hallway looked like it was a mile long. I knock on the door softly twice and wait.

And wait.

Still waiting.

Maybe I didn't knock loud enough?

I lift my hand up to knock on the door again, but it is suddenly pulled open, and a plump, older lady steps out. She's shorter than me, and has on dark slacks, a white shirt, and a terribly ugly Christmas vest with smiling elves and fat snowmen on sleds. Her salt and pepper hair is pulled back tightly in a bun at the nape of her neck, showcasing her blinking Christmas light earrings. You heard me right. Those suckers lit up. I can't help but smile. I absolutely love her already. Her eyebrows shoot up into her hairline, and her mouth forms a perfect circle. She whispers something under her breath, but before I can ask her to repeat herself, she's smiling at me again. "Well 'ello there me dearie. What can I do for ye?"

Her Scottish accent was thick and wonderful, and I instantly knew she was the lady that had answered the phone when I had first called inquiring about the ad. I blink and open my mouth to say something, but quickly shut it again blushing. Not expecting to see anyone but him, I really hadn't thought of what to say. I was never very good at thinking on my feet.

Not to mention, did she know why I was here? Or who I was?

The lady must have sensed my distress, because she hit herself on the forehead with the palm of her hand and rolled her eyes like she is possessed. She reminds me so much of an over exaggerated cartoon. "Oh Cope, where be ye manners? I'm Ms. Cope, Mr. Cullen's personal…well everythin' really." And then she surprises me again by giggling; her Christmas earrings bobbing up and down, swinging side to side.

"I'm Izzy Swan."

Her dark eyes light up, and I know she knows me. I'm unsure of how much she knows, but by the way she smiles and starts to vibrate, yes, she's vibrating at this point, I think she knows more than just my name.

She grabs my hand in both of hers and shakes it furiously. "Oh dearie. I've heard so much about ye. Mr. Cullen, bless his heart, he's usually so quiet and withdrawn. But he's done nothing but speak of ye." She places a warm hand on my frozen cheek, and I smell sugar cookies and cinnamon. "Oh ye be a bonnie lass if I do say so me self. Mr. Cullen hasn't invited any females of any kind for years. I was beginning to wonder if I may have to…"

"Mrs. Cope. Were you not heading out for the night?" And then there he is; speak of the devil. His tall frame dwarfs the pint size Mrs. Cope.

Mrs. Cope jumps slightly and gasps out loud while holding her chest. "Oh ye need to be more careful with the sneaking, Mr. Cullen. This old ticker may stop one o' these days."

"I perish the thought, Mrs. Cope. However, you and I both know you will outlive the likes of me. You barely look a day over 30." His green eyes dance with humor.

She smiles up at him fondly and reaches up to pat his cheek lightly. "Oh ye be a sweet man, Mr. Cullen. But ye be a lyin' man. I'll be goin' now. Remember, I'm making pot o' stew tomorrow night with fresh sodie bread for supper."

"That sounds wonderful, Mrs. Cope. Thank you."

"I'll take me leave now." She swings her jacket over her shoulders and stuffs her arms in quick succession. "There is wine in the ice box. Would ye like me to set it out before I go?"

Master chuckles at her and shakes his head. "We will be fine, Mrs. Cope. Thank you. Please drive safe."

"Oh aye. Ye know I take o' cab when it gets ta bein' too nasty outside. Ye two have a pleasant evenin'." She smiles and winks at the two of us, before whisking off in a swirl of sugar cookies, cheesy Christmas sweaters, and blinking Christmas light earrings. I blink and let out a snort. I think I had just been Cope'd. She was too much and just wonderful.

"I am terribly sorry about Mrs. Cope. She can be a bit overzealous at times." His lips turn up into a crooked smile, and I feel myself smiling back at him.

"She's wonderful."

"That she is. And a bit nosey in her older age I'm afraid." His eyes skim my body, taking in every detail, and I watch as the playfulness dissipates, and the warmth and hunger take over. He pulls the door open wider for me in invitation. "I am so glad you could come, Isabella."

Gone is the carefree man I had seen just a moment ago, and in his place is the Master I had come to see. He's dressed in those dark, tight jeans, that leave nothing to the imagination. Instead of the sweater from earlier, he's sporting a skin tight white t-shirt, and I get to see his arms for the first time. His arms are toned, and with every small movement, I can see the muscles move and ripple. My mouth goes dry, and my head becomes fuzzy. "Thank you for inviting me, sir. You made it very hard to refuse your invitation."

There's so much I want to say to him. His note and the absurd amount of money left so many questions. But the one thing that kept ringing in my head was, did he know? Did he know how destitute I was? That I had even answered his ad because I needed financial help. What did he think of that? Of me? Was I the only one who came to him actually needing his money?

The quest for answers is weighing heavy on my mind, but when I look into his face…I was here for him. No! I was here to find out what this…all of this craziness was. I clasp my hands in front of myself, and stare at him with borrowed confidence. The money was burning and heavy as a boulder in my apron.

His eyes darken at my words, but I jam my hand into my apron to bring the money out of my pocket and wave it into his line of vision before he does or asks something of me that know I won't be able to say no to.

"I believe you forgot this when you left from the diner earlier, sir."

The heat that had been there just a moment ago, warming his eyes into liquid green swirls of deliciousness, now turned into cold, calculating, and sharp stones. His long fingers brushed back the bronze locks from his forehead, and I slapped my inner hussy upside the head when she started to replay the way his touch had made me sing just a bit earlier in this very apartment.

"Why don't you come in, Miss. Swan, so we may talk more privately about this matter." He pulls the door open wider, but stays in the doorway; his powerful body taking up more than half of the opening. I want to stand my ground and say hell no! We can have this conversation right here, right now. But I look behind me in the empty, long hallway, and know that anyone can hear anything that happens or is said with little difficulty. Even though he was the only apartment on this floor, that didn't stop anyone from coming out of the elevator doors, or the notorious Mrs. Cope from popping out of nowhere offering stew and wine. And I wasn't running back to my apartment without knowing.

I take in a deep breath, lift my chin, and gird my loins. I slide along the opened door's surface as far away from his warm hardness as I can; like he was the student with the Cheese Touch from _Diary of a Wimpy Kid_. I may have looked like a complete loon, but there was no way I could keep a level head if I came anywhere near him and his too perfect to be real body.

I turn away from him as he closes the door with an audible click, and take in the white floors and sconces in the entryway. It was dim in here, but I could still make out the darkened wood of the spiraling staircase that went up on the right side. The wood gleamed and shined under the muted light like it had just been polished.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up like an electrical storm was passing by me, and I knew he was standing just behind me. His fingertips skimmed my hand so softly, bringing my attention down to where our hands were just barely touching.

"I can't accept this. It's…it's too much."

He scrunches his face up in distaste and takes a pull from the amber liquid that is in his decanter. "It is a gift. You have read the contract." He pauses, waiting for my response. I give him a small nod. "Then you know I wish to take care of you."

I huff at him. This was going to be harder than I thought. "Nobody gives another person a gift this big." I try to hand the money to him again, but he sits down in an overstuffed chair with tall wooden posts on either side, distancing himself further from me and the money. "And I don't need to be taken care of."

"Who was it that established the protocol for gift giving? And perhaps I want to take care of you."

At this point I'm flustered, and I can't help but push my hair out of my face with a quick motion. Why did he have to be so difficult? "I suppose some random person who felt that they were being paid entirely too much for coffee. And why do you want to take care of me?"

His eyes catch mine, and I involuntarily pull my skirt down further on my legs. The green of his eyes are bottomless and unnatural. His full lips lift up in a half smile, revealing the dimple that made my stomach quiver like an 8.0 on the Richter scale, and the slight crinkling in the corners of his eyes makes my legs feel like they are made of rubber. "We both know I was not paying for the coffee, Isabella."

Did I dare ask? I gulp loudly, and my face starts to burn like I'm standing too close to an open flame. The palms of my hands become wet, and I rub them against my skirt to dry them off. I think I was coming down with an illness. Masteritis or something.

"Why do you always do that?"

He tilts his head to the side and his hair falls over his forehead and covers part of his questioning gaze. "Do what?"

"Try to make me unable to think around you." I murmur lightly, hoping like crazy that he didn't hear what I said. I was sadly mistaken.

"I feel the same around you, Isabella." His voice is rich and holds so many dark secrets that I just want to curl up against him and let him whisper them to me.

But how could I, Izzy Swan, backwards, daughter of a preacher, have that effect on someone as domineering and put together as him? As someone whose very presence demanded attention and respect.

"Can I be honest?"

"Of course, Isabella. We can't have secrets between the two of us."

"I came here to give you a piece of my mind, and to throw this money in your beautiful damn face." I pull the wadded up $100 bills from my apron pocket again, and hold them up for him to see.

He lifts an eyebrow and crosses his arms over his chest. "May I ask why you didn't?"

"Because…" Why didn't I again? "Well, I just don't know." I point my finger at him and put my other hand on my hip. "But don't you dare think for one minute if I'm not provoked, that I won't end up doing it."

He gives me that trademark grin of his, and I'm rewarded with the dimple that I love seeing so much. "I would expect nothing less."

I huff at him and start fiddling with my braid. Why was he making this so easy? Why was talking to him so darned easy? He stands there with a smirk on his face, and not a care in the world. Like what he has planned for us is as easy as walking down Michigan Avenue stark naked playing the banjo.

He clears his throat while standing up from his chair, and crosses over to the bar, pouring something dark amber into a decanter and holds it up to me. "Here. Drink this."

I curl my lip up in doubt and disgust. I wasn't one for drinking. "What is it?"

He continues to hold it towards me without a word and one eyebrow cocked as if to challenge me. One look at his face and I don't think I could tell him no. He's beauty incarnated standing there in his white t-shirt, his arm extended towards me is rigid and I just want to lick my way from his wrist on up. I feel the blush start from my chest this time and work itself up into my cheeks. I hope he didn't notice. I take the glass and grasp it with both hands; bringing it up to my nose and taking a whiff. The alcohol was strong, but there was also a distinct smell of honey. I look at him and lick my lips.

"Drink." It was a command from the Master now. I didn't dare disobey. I bring the glass to my lips and take a small sip, cringing at the first onslaught of the alcohol, but then savoring the aftertaste of the honey as it slid down my throat. "Drink it all, Isabella."

I look at him wide eyed and then back at the liquid in my glass. There wasn't a lot, but for someone who didn't drink often, it might as well have been a gallon. I take a deep breath and let it out, pinch my nose, and take it all in one huge gulp. I stick my tongue out and shudder at the initial burn, but then the next moment I'm humming as the honey takes over, and I feel the warmth spread from my stomach down into my arms. It wasn't so bad after all.

He's laughing at me now while he's pouring himself the same drink, and tipping more into my glass. "It's quite funny to watch someone drink an $800 bourbon as if it were cough syrup."

I lick my lips and smack them together. "I'm not much of a drinker, sir." Did he just say $800? I look at the glass in my hands as if it were on fire, or a Howler waiting to start yelling at me in a high pitched, screeching voice.

He finishes his drink in one gulp, all while looking at me from underneath his long eyelashes. In order to not squirm under his scrutiny, I look over to the wall of windows and pretend to take in the Chicago skyline, when all I can think about is him. His dimple in his chin, his eyes that are facets into what he's thinking, his hands…

I jump when I feel something brush lightly against my cheek. I can see his reflection in the glass. I can't help it, I stare openly at him with wide eyes and I instantly start feeling the unfamiliar feeling in the most intimate of places. The lights shine from outside of the apartment, creating an aura around his reflection in the windows, and my mouth goes dry. I bring the glass to my lips and take a long pull from it like I hadn't had a drink in weeks.

"Careful now." His breath skims across my skin, and I close my eyes and feel like I'm underwater. My quick breaths aren't enough to keep me from feeling like I'm lightheaded and my head is spinning. He's so close now I can feel the electricity zapping between our bodies, and I'm not sure what to do next. Without looking, I can feel his lips a hairs width away from the column of my neck, and I feel myself tilt it so it's more exposed to his soft lips. My body was in perfect tandem with his.

"I want you. Now." His words make me warmer than the drink ever could.

"Why me?" I whisper at his reflection.

He pushes his chest into my back and I feel every hard plane as if there aren't layers of clothes between us. And I feel him; hard and bulging against my back side. I gasp and turn around so I'm facing him now instead of the glass. I thought the reflection of the man was breathtaking, but it could never prepare me for the very man himself.

"You're sexy." Fingers touch my jaw line. "You're brilliant." They slide down my neck. "And you have completely bewitched me, Isabella Swan." He nudges me backwards until I lose my balance, and I flop into the overstuffed chair that he had been in just a moment before.

My eyes follow his every move, paying extra attention to what his hands are doing, half expecting them to pull a rabbit from a hat, or to pull a whip from underneath his bed. Either one wouldn't have surprised me.

Instead, he brings my hands to either side of the giant chair, rubbing his thumbs on my palms, trying to relax them open before wrapping them around the wooden slats that are on either side of the chair.

What was he doing?

I shift my gaze to him and ask him silently with my own eyes a million questions that my mouth just wouldn't-couldn't ask.

"Now," he begins slowly, his dark green eyes scorching me to my very bones. "Be a good girl and hold onto the back of the chair tightly. If you let go," he brings his mouth to mine, and nips my bottom lip before kissing me deeply and then pulling back until his lips are a breath away from my own. "I'll have to punish you." His words are a whisper, but I can feel the heat and promise wrapped around them.

An involuntary shiver runs down my spine, and I feel my hands grasp the smooth wood tightly like a lifesaver. I blink at him widely, and then nod my head wordlessly in understanding. I don't want him mad at me. Not when he made me feel like I could float on water, and leap across mountains. I want more of that. I want more of him. More of the feelings that surround me like a tsunami on the brink of hitting landfall.

He smirks down at me, and I am rewarded with those delectable dimples on his chin and cheeks. "Good girl." I practically purr.

Green eyes travel down my chest, and I am pinned to this chair; my breathing is shallow and coming quicker with every flick of his dark green eyes. But I hold onto the chair just like he asks, even though my fingers twitch to pull him down to me, and rake my fingers through his bronze tresses that are falling down his forehead. My shirt is pulled up and out of my skirt bearing my stomach and my skirt is inching up over my thighs with every passing second. Any other time I would readjust myself with fumbling fingers, but I can't. I won't. I feel his gaze on me like they are his hands, and I feel so damned powerful and so unlike myself.

His eyes search out my own, and I know I would do anything he asks of me without question. Those long fingers reach forward and touch my stomach and I feel myself quivering and shaking like I'm outside in the cold, except I'm uncomfortably hot. "You are so fucking beautiful."

While I'm still reeling from his words, he's undoing the buttons on my shirt slowly. First one, then two, three...

His mouth finds my neck, and it takes all of my being to not break the hold I have on the chair. He licks the area with his tongue, before nipping at the wet flesh; cultivating that odd mewling sound from my throat again. He sucks the heated flesh, swirling his soft tongue around the same area he had just nipped, making me writhe and breathe harder. I didn't even sound like myself anymore. He moves my blouse to the side, and drags his lips across my left shoulder and kisses it until I think I might yell for him to just get it over with and end my torture. Who knew his lips were so damned magical?

He growls. "I want you, Isabella. There is no denying that."

Just when I'm about to cry out and beg for him to take me now, he moves his head away, trailing kisses down my clavicle, and right between my breasts where he has my shirt pulled open. "I want you to want me in return. I want to control your pleasure." His breath is hot and leaves my skin wet. His breath trails down my stomach, his lips brushing against my flushed skin, but never kissing me. "Give me a chance to show you." My stomach muscles quiver again with each slight touch of his soft lips as he speaks.

I know I should answer him, but I can't form words that won't sound like a Klingon in distress. I nod my head instead.

Yes.

Show me.

His hands push my skirt up further on my thighs in response to my answer, exposing more of my pale legs to his hungry eyes. He watches me with his mouth slightly open, while he pushes the skirt up as far as it will go; my plain white cotton underwear now in sight.

"Mm, you smell divine, Isabella." When he says my name I swear I hear him purr. I squirm, and lift my hips towards him as an invitation. But instead of putting his mouth where I need him, he kisses the inside of my thigh with a wet kiss; nipping slightly with his teeth, and eliciting a squeak from me.

He travels down further, kissing the back of each knee, before going further still. He was driving me over the edge with his sweet, open mouthed kisses. His hands slid down my heated skin; following where his mouth had just been moments before.

I close my eyes and hold on tighter to the chair, chanting in my head over and over again, be a good girl Izzy; hold on tight.

He pulls my underwear to the side, and doesn't even give me a chance to breathe before his mouth is on me, and all thoughts of being a good girl are thrown out the window. My eyes fly open and look down at the man between my legs, the only thing visible is his coppery tresses and his wide back covered in his white t-shirt. But when his tongue flicks across my clit, I see stars erupt in my vision, and then I am blind and deaf.

It's spectacular and unlike anything I've ever experienced before. I'm floating in a pool of melted lava and my body has melted off my bones. I'm like a pool of hot liquid, and the ache between my legs is almost too much to handle.

Before I can rationalize any coherent thought, he grabs my hips off the cushion and buries his face further into me; finally giving me what I've been asking for since I met him. I just hadn't known it yet.

This was…

I was…almost.

Again?

Yes, again!

I arch my hips up towards him, creating a friction that was both delicious and too sweet, and feel him start to create a desperate rhythm with his tongue. I match him with my hips, his tongue dancing across my center in quick flicks.

Yes!

It was like I was fire and water at the same time. Was that possible? My head falls back against the softness of the cushion; my arms are numb from holding on too tightly to the chair. But I feel my body tense and start to shatter all around him while my legs hold him to me tightly.

"Gorgeous." He whispers. But I'm blind and deaf, and if I were to die now, I wouldn't give too hoots about it.

Fingers dive into my hair, and pulls my mouth to his awaiting lips, searing me with a heated, wet kiss. Swallowing each cry that comes out of me with eagerness. I can taste myself on his lips and I let out a moan. Knowing where he had just been…tasting myself on him…I want him again.

Again.

And again.

I still can't see and the static in my ears makes the world sound like it's millions of miles away, but when he speaks, he's my world. My body is

He's lifting me up from the chair cushions, pulling me close and cradling me to his chest. "Will you give all of yourself to me, Isabella? Will you be mine?"

I hum into his chest and try to answer him. I really do. But I can't open my eyes or my lips. I feel his lips touch my forehead and then I'm on a cloud. "Sleep beautiful."

I don't have the power to tell him no. My body floats into oblivion and then there is nothing but dark and the smell of him.

***taps the mic* Anybody still out there? So sorry for the almost year update on the story my loves, but there were so many real life situations and changes this past year. I never forgot about this story though, and I want nothing more than to finish this story and show you where it is heading. **

**As always, if you leave a comment you will get a sneak peek into the next chapter. **

**Much love, **

**Sub Laney**


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